Acts of Negligence
by KikyCat
Summary: The events of the siege have taken a heavy toll on everyone in Atlantis. Just then an accident happens... COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1

Huge thanks go to Skiffywatcher for the beta

Disclaimer: Stargate Atlantis belongs to MGM, I own nothing. No money was made from writing this story

**Acts of Negligence**

_- Chapter 1 -_

They weren't dead, they weren't dead, they weren't dead.

Rodney still couldn't quite believe it. For some strange reason the major had come up with a surprisingly good idea that Rodney should have had hours ago, but at least both Radek and he had successfully executed the plan.

They weren't dead.

With his left hand running circles over his forehead he huffed what must have been the thousandth sigh of disbelieving relief.

And they had a ZPM now.

After days and days without so much as a proper power nap, almost no food and a constant fear for their lives, Rodney was so bone tired he didn't even feel tired anymore. After the Daedalus had reported that the Hive ships were leaving the system, his body's last reserves of adrenalin had once again flooded his veins and left him in a state of drugged excitement.

They weren't dead. And they had a ZPM now; a ZPM that had already started to revive the city, tower by tower, system by system. All the experiments he could conduct, the new insights he would get now that so much energy powered the city.

Rodney practically shook in anticipation. Sleep could wait now. It had to. There was too much work to be done, too many things to explore.

Turning the last corner that separated him from his lab rather abruptly, the physicist only narrowly avoided a collision with an approaching scientist; or one of Sheppard's men? He wasn't really sure and couldn't care less at this particular moment. His vision had dimmed around the edges and everything else was wavering in front of his eyes like heat haze on concrete on a hot summer's day, but he paid no attention to it and continued his half-run towards his lab.

Rewarding the startled "Sorry, Sir" with a preoccupied "mpf", Rodney tightened the grip on the stack of folders he was carrying, making sure the 9 mm was still well concealed within the pages.

He finally reached the small lab that he shared with Zelenka, the doors obediently opening up when he approached them. Even this room seemed more active now, noisier than the last time he was here; or maybe he was just imagining things.

Quickly crossing the threshold he turned around to face the door again and waited the moment it took the two wings to join back together. Content that he would be alone for a while, Rodney allowed himself to slump back to the wall for a moment, before concentrating on the various computer screens occupying the benches, which were happily displaying rows and rows of numbers and calculations.

Just in time, Radek had made the final adjustments for the shield and had powered it up, as soon as Rodney had installed the ZPM. The data had been transferred automatically onto their own hard drives in this lab.

Keeping one eye on the displays, he opened up the thickest folder he was carrying with his left hand and took out his hand gun. Rodney could feel the blood rushing into his head, undoubtedly colouring his cheeks an impressive cherry colour. Yeah, that hadn't been one of his brightest hours. Teyla hadn't said anything and Rodney was still clinging to hope that she hadn't seen his little mishap in the corridor.

On their way back to the control room, Rodney had purposefully stayed a couple of steps behind the Athosian. This way, Teyla could protect him, and, once they passed the section again, he secretly picked up the fallen gun and magazine, which was thankfully lying close-by, and shoved it back into the weapon; making sure he heard the clicking of the lock this time.

They encountered one more pair of Wraith just one level below the control room. Teyla had taken care of both of them, almost before he could fire the first shot. It was a good thing though, since the gun had jammed before a single bullet had made it clear of the barrel.

Rodney looked at the black steel in irritation. It may have been his fault that the magazine had dropped out, but he was fairly certain he couldn't have avoided it jamming. But he wasn't sure, and, before, he hadn't had a chance to find out for himself what had caused it. Now there was no way he'd bring it back to the armoury and admit what happened. A gun, as effective as it might be – when it actually worked – was a simple piece of technology; he could fix it himself. Sheppard would never let him live this down, should he ever hear about it. Rodney was sure, if Teyla had seen what happened, he'd be in for a yelling, a lecture, a yelling and a week of gun practice. In precisely that order, and all courtesy of John Sheppard.

Swallowing down the last bits of embarrassment, the physicist dropped the 9 mm onto one of the smaller cabinets next to the wall, before returning his concentration to the biggest screen.

After staring at it for a couple of minutes, the rows of numbers occupying the display suddenly blurred together into a big mass of bright neon green that hurt his eyes, and Rodney had to squeezed them together painfully to escape the sudden increase of light. To make matters worse his stomach chose this very moment to knot together and he doubled over in an attempt to ease the cramp.

Just as Rodney was reasonably sure he could straighten up again without loosing the non-existent contents of his stomach, an ear-splitting bang reverberated from somewhere nearby that almost had him fall out of his chair with shock.

Amongst other things, Radek's favourite mug, hand-made by his, obviously talent-less, 5-year-old nephew, fell victim to the resulting vibrations and landed with a crash on the floor.

What now? Abandoning the chair that had just saved him from the same fate as Radek's mug, Rodney hurriedly made his way to the door. Not finding a free spot on his desk for the folders he still carried, he deposited them on the nearest shelf and ran out of the lab to investigate.

The scientist didn't have to search for very long. The hallway just outside the lab was already filling with black smoke and bits of white fluff, steaming from the engineering lab two doors down. Several people crowded the entrance; some were coughing their lungs out, others had obviously just finished extinguishing a fire and were now trying to rid themselves from massive amounts of white foam.

Since no-one went screaming from the room and everyone seemed more or less calm, Rodney McKay swallowed his momentary concern for his people and let irritation take over.

"What the hell happened here?"

"Oh, uh, Dr McKay. We didn't know you were, uh, still awake?", Dr Thomas looked beseechingly at his friends for help. Rodney noted with some satisfaction the look of horror on the young engineer's face, when the man realised what he'd said.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I'll let you know the next time I'm going to bed, so you can wait with blowing up the city until AFTER I'm asleep." Rodney was livid now, and the arrival of two nurses and a scruffy looking Major Sheppard in shorts with a couple of Marines in tow only made it worse.

"It's not enough that a couple of thousand aliens tried to kill us not three hours ago, noooo, you idiots are obviously perfectly capable of finishing their work for them, aren't you? Now, tell me what THE HELL JUST HAPPENED. And no, you Dr I-bought-my-title-from-the-local-flea-market will SHUT UP. Gomez, you go."

Waving the last bits of smoke away from his face, Rodney entered the positively wrecked lab, pushing the major out of his way in the process, and moaned at the sight of two laptops with fumes billowing from their insides and a now unrecognizable piece of ancient technology that had partially melted.

"Gomez? Did you fry your brain along with that thing?"

"Uhm, no, Dr McKay. We just tried to,… now that we… I mean, we have a ZPM now and, uh, wanted to find out..."

Rodney took a closer look at the mess, easily identifying the haphazardly interconnected appliances lying around with a scowl.

"Yeah, I can see what you wanted. Wasn't such a CLEVER IDEA now, was it? And since when, if I _may_ ask, are you conducting experiments of that magnitude without my prior approval?" McKay's voice had quietened down from his earlier yelling to a more dangerous quiet grumble. And his audience was sure his teeth hadn't stopped grinding even once during the last two sentences.

The lowering of his voice wasn't entirely due to the physicist calming down; it was more a result of an increasingly pounding head and of the somersaults his stomach was doing once more. Casting a quick look at the major, who was eying him with two raised eyebrows, Rodney assumed he was probably not looking so hot either.

He had to get out of here. The smoke wasn't thick any more, but the smell and the stale air did nothing for his queasiness. For once he wrapped his arms around his stomach instead of letting them do most of his talking. The unusual posture clearly wasn't missed by Sheppard, and Rodney shot him an angry look in hopes of stopping any comment.

"Okay, listen. VERY carefully. I'm too tired and too irritated right now to deal with you bunch of King Kong's brain-free siblings. Clean up this mess and then go to bed. All of you. The labs are off-limits for anyone until I say otherwise. I want a report about this on my desk first thing tomorrow morning. And the next one doing something as stupid will be the first one to try and swim to the Mainland with nothing but water wings. Am I making myself clear?"

Some murmurs of "Yes, Doctor", "absolutely" and "perfectly" followed him out of the room, which he quickly left behind in an attempt find the nearest bathroom.

Rodney didn't get very far when his vision and hearing suddenly zoned out completely. Losing his sense of balance, his body started to list dangerously to the left, and he would have crashed into the wall if Sheppard hadn't suddenly appeared between himself and said wall. Even though the major might have been, in McKay's opinion, more hard bone and skin than soft tissue, collapsing into, and being caught by him was still preferable to an unforgiving steel-surface on any given day.

oOo

"McKay? Rodney? Come on. Wake up!"

"Huh? What?" Oh yeah, Sheppard, the wall, the corridor, stupid people, feeling sick. He remembered now. "Stop shaking me. M'awake."

"I'm not shaking you, Rodney. You're shivering. Don't worry, they've sent for a gurney. You'll be in the infirmary in no time."

So he was still in the corridor. And he really didn't feel well. He should probably tell Sheppard that, considering he was half lying in the man's lap if the bones poking painfully into his lower back were any indication.

Rodney frantically struggled into an upright position.

"Whoa, take it easy." John tried to get him to lie back down, but the physicist resisted.

"Gonna be..." He had really tried to avoid it, but John had stopped his forward movement, and paid now dearly for trying to be helpful. "Sorry, sorry."

"That's okay."

Rodney took it as a major proof of friendship that John hardly acknowledged the mess now spread over most of his bare legs, but continued to support him through an eternity of retching and dry-heaving until finally two medics with a gurney appeared.


	2. Chapters 2&3

_- Chapter 2 -_

The ride towards the infirmary passed off as quickly and efficiently as ever. Even though Rodney was still feeling like his goldfish had, back in primary school, after his experiment with a bottle of liquid soap, he couldn't help but notice that the corridors had been cleared of bodies and even mostly of the inevitable dark stains. An almost eerie calmness had settled over the city that belied the constant smell of fear and blood and the sounds of frantic shouts that had filled these halls mere hours ago.

Rodney, once again concentrating on aiming anywhere else but the people surrounding him, and John, one comforting hand on McKay's shoulder, concentrating on dodging in time, were therefore quite unprepared for the sight that presented itself once the large double door opened to allow them into the infirmary.

The place was a mess.

Content for the moment about neither throwing up any vital organs or imminent death, Rodney rolled over onto his back and gave the scene to his left and right a wide-eyed stare.

Like a hive. He almost snorted out loud at his own disturbing thought. But the analogy was still fitting. Maybe not with a Hive ship, but this was what he imagined an actual bee-hive would look like, or an ant-hill for that matter. One that had just been attacked by an ant-eater, with the workers frantically trying to minimize damage and casualties; and failing.

The infirmary was positively packed with people. Both the ones still standing and trying to help, and many more lying on beds, gurneys, mattresses or even on the floor with only a couple of blankets to lie on. Most of them held bloody bandages to their heads, arms or legs; others were just lying deathly still. What had Radek said? 30 dead? 40? Rodney couldn't remember, but it seemed a high enough number already. For some reason he had forgotten to ask how many more had been injured. Well, now he knew.

Looking up at the major, the scientist could see his own shock reflected in Sheppard's eyes as he took in the sight. The major had moved his hand from Rodney's shoulder and now had a tight grip on one side of the gurney as the two medics, who had helped them in the corridor, steered them persistently forward through the crowd of people towards the far end of the room.

"I'm sorry, Dr McKay. As you can see, there're no beds free at the moment, so you'll have to stay on the gurney for the time being. One of the doctors will be with you shortly." A cry from the other side of the room had the medic turn his head and he nodded in that general direction. The large Australian started moving away, but stopped next to Sheppard.

"Dr McKay seems stable for the moment, Major, and we're a little short-staffed right now, so would you mind staying with him until a doctor is available?"

"Sure, no problem." Before the medic had a chance to leave, John grabbed his arm. "How many?"

The man cast a weary look onto the floor, before he braced himself and met Sheppard's eyes "We lost another three in the last two hours, I'm afraid. Total death toll is 47 now. Six are still in critical condition."

John nodded in grim approval and let him disappear within the crowd.

"47?" Rodney whispered, just when one of the, so far constant, beeps turned into an ominous loud wail. It never again returned to the steady beeps even though a raspy accented voice repeatedly declared "Clear" followed by the unmistakable sounds of a defibrillator hitting human skin; until even the wailing turned to silence, and all movement seemed to cease for a second.

"48." John corrected, closing his eyes.

"48." Rodney repeated, curling into a ball. "48."

oOo

The curtain around the bed of No. 48 opened partially and released a haggard looking Carson Beckett, who was fiercely rubbing his eyes and face with one hand, trying to rub away more than just fatigue that seemed to engulf him like a heavy, dark cloud.

"Carson?" the major asked softly, but the Doctor still reacted as if being slapped. He had obviously assumed himself to be unwatched. Not likely in here, Rodney mused.

"Major? Rodney! What happened to you?"

"Passed out cold in the corridor than started puking his guts out ever since."

Rodney tried to glare at Sheppard for this less than compassionate description, but he was so cold all of a sudden that burying himself deeper into the thin blanket was more important than to waste precious energy on the major and he closed his eyes.

A warm hand on his back interrupted his doze.

"Rodney? Tell me what's wrong."

"Nthn.Juslemmenapftenmntsan'llbefne."

"Oh, yeah, I heard of that condition. Pretty nasty. But I believe the cure is to Open-Mouth-While-Speaking."

This time Rodney couldn't resist peeking over the top end of the blanket to give Sheppard a disgusted look, but was satisfied that Carson was also giving the man a glare that spoke volumes, before focussing back on McKay.

"You're still feeling nauseous? Any pain?" Carson inquired, leaning back on Rodney's secured gurney, never removing his hand from the other man's back.

"Maybe a bit of both. But there isn't anything left to bring up anyway." He really tried not to sound like a sulking three year old.

"Headache then?"

Rodney nodded.

"Alright. I'll give you something for it in a minute. Have you slept at all since this mess ended? Did you eat?"

"No time to sleep. Need to supervise power-output. I ate, ah ... four cups of coffee?"

The warmth of Carson's hand was instantly gone. "You still haven't slept? And four cups of coffee and no food? No wonder you ended up in here!"

John suddenly slapped Rodney lightly over the back of his head.

"Hey! What was that for?" McKay protested.

"Well, the Doc clearly wanted to do it, but couldn't. Hippocratic oath and such, so I thought I'd do it for him."

"Thank you, Major." Carson's voice clearly wasn't grateful. "Rodney, I gave you the stimulants because it was the only way. But your body isn't designed for such an abuse. You need proper fluids, food and – predominantly – sleep. Lots of it."

Rodney had felt it coming before Carson had even started his little lecture and was now slapping his hand urgently against the Doctor's thigh. Out of nowhere a plastic object appeared next to his head. Just in time.

"Major, that's a food tray. Was there anything wrong with the basin next to it?"

"Sorry, Doc. Just grabbed the first thing I saw..."

A couple of minutes later, when the mostly dry-heaves had more or less stopped, Carson took the tray and handed it to a passing nurse with an apologetic smile.

"Normally, I'd like to keep you here under observation, Rodney, to rehydrate you and make sure you behave yourself, but we don't have the capacity right now and need to focus on the more severe cases."

On any other day, McKay would have felt slightly insulted not to be considered important enough to warrant constant care, but the hectic movements all around him combined with Carson's worn-out face made the truth behind the Doctor's words more than abundantly clear.

"Major, get yourself cleaned up. Rodney, I'm going to give you some fluids and an anti-emetic intravenously. The major can pick you up in an hour and then I don't want to see either of you until at least 9 a.m. tomorrow."

"I don't have time, Carson. I've got some diagnostics running that I can't leave alone for so long."

"You'll have to. If they're really so important get someone from your staff to do it."

"He sent them to bed."

"And Zelenka is nowhere to be found." Rodney supplied.

"I sent him to his quarters after his run-in with the Lieutenant."

"Run-in?" Rodney had no idea what Beckett was talking about.

"Ford knocked him out when he went for the Jumper", John explained, never meeting his eyes.

"Oh." Rodney didn't miss when Carson unconsciously zipped his collar all the way up, even though Ford's sudden attack on the doctor hadn't left any visible marks.

"Enough of that", Beckett broke the uncomfortable silence quickly, busily checking Rodney over and setting up the IV a nurse handed him, "you're going to bed. That is non-negotiable."

Rodney knew when he had lost a fight, or maybe he was too tired to put up much of one. "Okay, but someone needs to check the equipment at least once every couple of hours."

"Do you have to have a PhD in Physics to do that?"

"No. Not really. At least 40 of Atlantis' population should be able to determine whether the programme is still running or a message is blinking 'Error' in bright red."

"That's it? I can do it."

"No way, Major. You're going to bed as much as he is – or rather", Carson raised an eyebrow after he acknowledged John's state of clothing for the first time, "back to it. If you just need people to check that, then I'll find someone to do it for you."

"Well, it's a bit more complex than that." At Carson's unimpressed facial expression he added, sulking slightly, "and if it's not working, you HAVE to wake me up!"

Rodney didn't know whether or not Carson promised him to do that by staying silent, but he'd probably have to take his chances. The major disappeared, hopefully towards the nearest shower and some clothes, and, while the Doctor was still working around him, Rodney explained in detail what had to be done.

- Chapter 3 -

"Dr Beckett?"

"Over here, Maria."

The faint clacking of footsteps echoing from the door seemed halting at first as if unsure where to go, but quickly became louder and more pronounced when the nurse finally located Atlantis' CMO sitting underneath his desk, wedged between the foot of his chair and a little grey cabinet. Bending forward slightly and resting her hand on her knees, she gave him an inquiring look.

"Doctor?"

"I just needed a bit of peace and quiet to go over Sergeant Maguire's charts again." Carson gave her a sheepish grin, hiding his disappointment at being found only minutes after finally finding a spot away from the chaos that was the infirmary. "How's he holding up?"

"That's what I came to tell you. His BP has improved and his temperature has been stable for the last two hours. Dr Biro reckons he is stable enough to join the others when we open the gate to Earth."

A couple of hours ago, a marginally rested looking Elizabeth Weir had come to the infirmary, to inform Carson that they would be ready to open the gate as soon as he gave the go-ahead.

McKay had obviously spent the first couple of hours after the last Wraith in the city had been eliminated calculating the amount of power they had left. It was enough for shields or cloak, but wormholes to Earth seemed to require so much energy that they would still have to restrict the number of trips back home through the Stargate if they wanted to make the most out of the ZPM.

But too many were injured so badly; they would need, if not long, then longer term care, which Atlantis' staff and resources just weren't able to provide. So it was decided to open the gate this once, for the moment, and transfer all the new data together with most of the wounded as well as all those who were beyond help, back to Earth.

Elizabeth was now only waiting for him, and he was waiting for all the still critical patients to stabilise enough so that they could risk putting them through the stress of gate-travel. It seemed, now was the time.

Snapping out from his train of thoughts, Carson realised, Maria was still waiting for a response. "Finally some good news. Are the others prepared for transport?"

"We're almost done. The Daedalus promised to send some people down to help us. Sir, if you don't mind me asking, but is that comfortable?"

"Not really, no. It seemed like a good idea at the time, but now I'm kind of stuck. Care to give me a hand?"

Smiling, Maria held out her hand and helped her boss squeeze out of his hiding place.

Tiredly falling into his chair, Carson straightened his back and rubbed the back of his neck. "Ooch. Remind me never to do that again."

"Don't worry, I will", she promised, rolling the 'r' a little more than usual. They were all tired. "Here are the files you need to sign."

"Thank you", he nodded, and watched the woman leave his office. Soon it would be over. Finally.

Carson opened the first folder of the small stack, but the letters and numbers might as well have been Chinese. For a couple of seconds the clean, stain-free white of the paper captured his gaze and he felt himself being almost hypnotised by the bright colour; the letters blurring away into nothingness.

The last... how many? Yes, about 80 hours now were without a doubt the most horrific experience in his entire professional as well as personal experience. During his years as an intern in Glasgow, he'd had his fair share of car and bus accidents and even a plane crash, where there were always a lot of casualties involved.

But this... this was different on so many levels.

Back then they had been able to split the patients between half a dozen hospitals and 30-odd doctors. Today four doctors had had to deal with well over 60 people, many of them critically injured, and that was not even counting the ones who had been transferred directly to the morgue. All of it while they had to fear a sudden Wraith-assault on the infirmary.

Closing his eyes in an attempt to block out the gory pictures that kept popping up in his head, Carson couldn't help but feel utterly relieved that this nightmare would soon be over. At this moment that was the only thing that counted, the only thing that kept him going. At this point just the thought of getting away from this place for a few hours seemed like heaven. As beautiful and just as distant. Or just not having to see blood everywhere he looked all the time, even though it would probably follow him into his dreams for months to come.

Sleep. Yes sleep.

But all this would have to wait for a few more hours.

Uncapping a pen with slightly shaky fingers, the Doctor took a deep breath and started reading.

oOo

Following an hour and two very loud arguments between a pair of engineers about whether or not to wake up Dr McKay, the gate to Earth was finally opened, and all severely injured patients together with 49 body bags were sent through.

Carson supervised the transfer while keeping close to the conscious patients, offering words of encouragement and even sharing a joke with Airman Rowland, who would probably lose his leg if the SGC couldn't perform a small miracle.

Another fifteen minutes later, after the gate had shut down with a snap, he tried to go back to the infirmary.

After three unsuccessful attempts - the last of which had resulted in Dr Walters advising one of the new marines to drag him to his quarters by his trouser legs - Carson finally grumbled in defeat, but left.

Rodney seemed to have followed his orders – with the persuasion of a mild sedative – had gone to bed and hadn't been seen since. He should probably follow his own advice now and get some sleep.

Rodney.

O-oh. The experiment. Carson had forgotten about that. Well, maybe not entirely, but he hadn't had the heart to burden someone from his overworked staff with something like this as well, and he himself just hadn't been able to leave.

Sighing deeply, the doctor turned around and headed for the labs.

oOo

He almost expected to find his friend bent over some piece of Ancient technology, oblivious to the rest of the world as usual, but was pleased to find the entire corridor completely deserted. Carson couldn't even hear the distinct clicking of a keyboard when he passed Rodney's quarters, situated just around the corner from the lab.

Satisfied that, for once, his orders were being followed, he entered the still brightly-lit lab.

A soft, warm bed sounded better with every passing minute, so Carson hurried to the big desktop computer in the middle of the room, eager to get this over and done with.

McKay had quite obviously prepared the place before he went to bed. Yellow post-it notes and big white 'Do not touch' signs covered the entire bench. The doctor ignored them and went straight to the big screen in front of him, just as Rodney had told him to. No warnings flashed in bright red and the programme seemed to be doing what it was meant to do. Not that Carson really cared.

Truth be told, he probably wouldn't have woken Rodney up, even if there had been a problem. The physicist had, after some urging, finally admitted that nothing would go 'kabloom', it would just be a 'pain in the ass' to run the programme again. Well, Rodney, of course, had used bigger words, but that was the gist of it as far as Carson was concerned.

His head was itchy. In fact his entire body felt itchy, dirty and still a bit shaky with the remnants of what must have been overdose-like amounts of adrenalin floating through his system. Leaning one elbow on top of the back of a chair next to him, Carson ran his hand over his head, pulled the little microphone from behind his left ear and rubbed the sore spot, where the tiny device had practically been glued for the last couple of days.

One of the yellow stickers that was stuck right to the frame of the LCD screen caught his eye. "_YOU. Check laptop on the left..._" Carson stopped reading and looked around him in bewilderment. Laptop on the left? There was no laptop on the left. There were two one bench over, but that was it.

"Damn it, Rodney, I'm not in the mood for this." Ignoring at least three different 'Do not touch'-signs, the Doctor checked the surface covered with books, stacks of paper, gadgets and virtually miles of cable.

"Okay, if I don't find that thing in ten seconds, I'm out of...here we go." Pushing some memos out of the way he finally spotted the closed computer buried under several thick, hardcover copies of 'Physics', 'Advanced Quantum Mechanics' and a third tome that had Carson shake his head in mystification, just what Rodney would want with that. Not finding an empty spot on the bench, he threw the books carelessly onto a pile of blue folders.

He couldn't remember hearing the shot, but he definitely felt it impacting.


	3. Chapters 4&5

A/N Just so you know, the story is already written and will be posted daily from now on. 

_- Chapter 4 –_

Carson was beginning to wish he would just pass out. Didn't the heroes in all those action movies always pass out into blissful unconsciousness after being tortured, stabbed, beaten up or, yes, shot?

Swallowing the saliva that his mouth appeared to be in no short supply of right now, the doctor studied the intricate detail of the ceiling's architecture with increasing fascination.

They didn't, he decided with some regret. He was pretty sure though, painting the 'Creation of Adam' to the small lab's ceiling would probably be overkill. Picasso maybe. Radek would like that. He'd probably say it described Rodney's state of mind.

One of his ex-girlfriends had liked Bruce Willis. She had made him watch the Die Hard millionology over and over again. And when the next part had come out she persuaded him to do the triple feature. He would have done anything for her, so he went along.

He wondered whether Bruce Willis or his alter ego Detective What'shisname wanted to pass out after being shot? (He certainly had after the credits of part II) But Bruce had kept going, even with an increasing number of injuries and loss of blood – and clothes, for that matter (he was now fairly certain that was the main reason Maddie liked these movies) – until the last of the bad guys was either dead or behind bars.

But he wasn't Bruce Willis, Stallone or even Schwarzenegger.

Pity; A body made out of some fancy metal alloy would have come in handy. But, instead of ricocheting harmlessly from Terminator Beckett's torso, the bullet had hit him full force, undoubtedly wreaking havoc on its way through his body.

Maddie had dumped him two days later. In the rain next to the club he hated, but went to anyway because he knew how much she loved going there. He remembered the scene clearly now. Lots of blinking lights had tried to attract attention to the large disco; just like they did around him now.

She'd said he was a nice enough guy, but incredibly boring. She told him to 'work on his attitude', 'get out more', 'be more…'. But she never found an appropriate adjective, just waved her arms around in a helpless gesture, said "…you know…! See you around" and left, before he had a chance to say anything at all.

He didn't know. All he did know was that he'd loved that girl. A lot.

His mom was sick with the flu at the time, so he went home that night, took care of her with a smile on his face and never told anyone just how much that had hurt.

He thought a lot about what Maddie had told him, but didn't know which part of 'his attitude' he should work on, so he kept to himself even more, got out less. It was safer that way.

The ceiling lost its fascination and the walls didn't have anything on them that would warrant closer inspection. But his left hand had potential. It lay low on his stomach and when he turned it towards his face, it came away bright red.

He remembered what had happened now. Understood it - not so much. His head was fuzzy and his eyes runny from staring at the bright lamps for too long.

One minute he'd finally found Rodney's laptop, the next a loud noise had shaken the room and something had hit him so hard that all the air was instantly forced from his lungs and his legs had given way under the strain of the percussion.

One of the Wraith must have eluded capture and came to feed on him now, he concluded, even though he couldn't remember hearing the doors opening. Maddie would have liked that. Action, blood; no superhero, though.

But when, after a couple of moments, still no-one had entered the room or moved within its walls, he dismissed the idea – not without a decent amount of relief. Even Bruce would have been relieved, he was sure about that.

But then the pain began and an increasing amount of red was starting to colour his white uniform shirt crimson. He could feel it running down his sides and dripping onto the back of his shirt. It tickled. The itch was somehow worse than the pain itself.

He had been shot. Not with a Wraith stunner, but an actual projectile weapon. But who had shot him and why? The wound was located right in the middle of his belly and he had been facing the wall before. No-one had been there. And yet there still was a hole with a decent amount of blood seeping out of it.

Chastising his brain for setting the oddest priorities in a time like that, he tried to concentrate his jumpy thoughts on what had to be done. In the end it didn't matter who had shot him and why. If the other person decided to come back to finish the job, there was nothing he could do about it but yell at Saint Peter that his timing sucked. After all, they had just managed to survive against virtually all odds.

"Should start to play the Lottery, really."

His own voice into the relative quiet of the room startled him. The subsequent groan was as much a response to the pain as to the absolutely daft things his brain came up with at a time like this.

"Lotto. I'm bleeding to death, but thinking about playing lotto. What's next? Contemplating who's going to be the next king of England?" Thinking about Maddie was better. At least she was pretty.

Alright. He could do it. He was a bloody doctor after all. No pun intended. – "Gawd, Carson..."

Taking a deep breath he once again tried to focus.

Problem one: he was bleeding. Rather severely from a gunshot wound to his stomach, as far as he could see from his position flat on his back. A closer look by propping himself up on his elbows was deemed unwise, after the movement brought him close to his earlier wish to pass out.

Solving problem one: stop the bleeding.

Problem to solution to problem one: there wasn't anything to do it with besides his own bare hands, which were already pressing against the slick cloth of his shirt. And he really wanted to curl up to ease the pain if only a little. This led to problem number two.

His legs weren't responding the way he wanted them to. From the waist down it felt like he had sat cross-legged on concrete for hours and his butt and legs had fallen asleep and were now slowly waking up. Pins and needles all over.

Maybe this was what being stunned felt like. Did people feel like that on Star Trek, too, when they were hit by a phaser? He couldn't remember. In any case phasers seemed considerably easier to carry around then these ten-pound stunners the Wraith were so fond of using.

"Wonder how Captain Picard would have..." bringing his blood-stained hand up, he knocked himself slightly on his head. "Stop that, Beckett. What the hell has Captain Picard got to do with your current predicament? Start THINKING! You're hanging around Rodney too much, Carson. You're crazy AND arguing with yourself. Can't be good."

Okay, so there was something wrong with his legs. He could at least feel them, but something wasn't right. Maybe it was the blood loss, or the bullet had done more damage than he cared to admit.

Anyway, he sighed inwardly. Solution to problem two - Well that was actually even a solution to problem one: get help.

Radio.

Good thing to get help with when you need it. When you actually know where it is.

With his left hand, he felt for the headset behind his ear, no doubt leaving more bloody fingerprints. It wasn't there, but there was something odd with his partially closed hand. It even hurt a bit now that he thought about it.

Bringing the appendage into his line of sight, he uncurled his blood-encrusted fingers and closed his eyes in desperate disbelief.

The memory came back; he had unhooked the little device a couple of minutes ago and had held it in his hand.

The shock of the impact or the pain - or both - had obviously resulted in him clenching his hands into tight fists. The radio hadn't survived the abuse.

Suddenly the seriousness of the situation hit him full force. This wasn't just a dream or hallucination of his sleep-deprived mind. He was lying in a deserted area of the city in the middle of the night, behind closed doors with probably serious internal injuries.

Better yet, everyone expected him to be in bed, so no-one would come looking for him.

He could die here. On this rather random day. Alone.

He didn't want to die. Especially not like this, without even knowing who had shot him and why. He didn't want to die, because he wanted to see Maddie again to tell her that some people liked his attitude, boring or not. And he didn't want to die because he had seen the devastated looks on so many people's faces lately after being told their friends - a part of their family - had died.

John Sheppard had taken it particularly hard. The major felt responsible for all those lives in the city, as well as for all those marines from the Daedalus who had come to another galaxy only to be killed hours after their arrival.

When they lost Corporal Simpson after almost believing he would make it, Sheppard hadn't said anything, just looked at Carson, his face hard, void of emotion, before turning on his heels and walking straight out of the infirmary. But, even with the doors now closed behind the major, he had had no problems making out the sound of an outraged "49", followed by the dull sound of something hitting a wall.

Too many dead already. He didn't want to do that to Sheppard, Rodney, Elizabeth and all the others who had become his family. It would hit them too hard in a time where they had been through so much already.

He couldn't and wouldn't die.

Drawing in as deep a breath as he dared, Carson slowly rolled over onto his stomach, whimpering when the pain in his stomach blossomed. Something definitely wasn't right with his legs. He managed to twist them around a bit, but had to use his hand to push them the rest of the way over. And there was a very uncomfortable feeling of pressure on his back. Almost as if someone was continually pressing an elbow onto an area around his spine.

After taking a moment to get his breath back, he looked at the door. It seemed light-years away, and yet getting out of this room was just the first step. When he got there – when, not if – there would still be another 30 odd metres separating him from the only other human being in the vicinity.

He prayed that Rodney would really be in bed and not running around the city doing heaven only knew what.

Avoiding the longer route around the large bench, Carson took the shortcut and started crawling towards the exit through the openings between the supporting legs of the table.

It was slow going and arduous, but his feet, though still tingly, proved able to help shove him forward centimetre by painful centimetre.

_- Chapter 5 -_

The trek took forever. When the laboratory door finally registered his presence and opened to let him through into the corridor, Carson was already so exhausted he doubted he could go on much further. Yet, the majority of the way was still lying ahead of him.

Unable to apply any sort of constant pressure to the wound except for his own bodyweight through lying on his stomach, blood was still flowing; but at least it seemed to be slowing down. Still, the dizziness associated with the fair amount of blood that Carson had already lost got worse with every passing minute.

Thinking had been weird before, now he had to fight even harder to focus his entire being on getting to this door around the corner. 'Why' couldn't be important any more; he just had to get there.

But not this way. Not by having to drag his entire weight with his hands and increasingly uncooperative legs. He had to get up.

As he lay over the threshold, the doors thankfully stayed open. But no matter how hard or how much he tried to get himself upright by clinging to the door frame, Carson just couldn't get his legs under him. Exhausted and frustrated he gave up, letting desperation wash over him like a tidal wave.

This couldn't be happening. He didn't want to die. Closing his eyes the faces of his friends and family swam into his consciousness. He could taste the cold spring air of his auntie's place on Skye, which he had visited every year when he was little. He could smell the exotic scent of Athosian spices that Teyla radiated whenever she came back from the Mainland. And he heard Rodney whining and moaning about a tiny cut in his finger, while glancing worriedly towards Sheppard lying unconscious on the gurney next to his.

The memories were so real, the emotions associated with them so tangible that Carson couldn't help the sob erupting from deep within him at having to lose all of this now.

Burying his face into the crook of his arm, more memories flooded his brain.

The last time he had seen his mother, crying to see her only son leaving. She had made him promise, PROMISE, to come back in one piece. Carson saw himself reviving the major in the jumper, felt Rodney's and Elizabeth's relief when he was finally successful.

The many late nights came back to his mind, the times he had come to drag Rodney out of his lab to eat and sleep and all the conversations with Teyla, during her first few months in the city, trying to make her feel more comfortable, more at home, alone with all those strangers from Earth.

He couldn't go. Too much to do. He was needed. Anger suddenly replaced the desperation from before. This wasn't fair. This just wasn't bloody hell FAIR.

Letting the anger work in his favour, Beckett got up on his elbows again and continued towards rescue.

oOo

And, after another lifetime, he finally passed the last corner, coming face to face with Rodney's door. Just two metres to go.

But the trek had taken its toll. The view in front of him wavered in and out of focus and his breath came in small, shallow gasps. He tried yelling for the physicist, but all that came out was a pitiful squeak that drove spikes of pain up and down his chest and stomach.

With one last effort, Carson arrived outside the entrance, just waiting for the sensors to pick up his presence and open the door.

It didn't happen.

Of course not. These weren't lab doors that opened for anyone. The sensor on his right had to be physically activated. The sensor that was at least one point five metres above him.

Collecting every ounce of strength left in his body, Beckett heaved himself up, until his entire weight settled on the palms of his hands. Forcing himself up onto one knee, he was almost close enough to reach the three blue lights.

Just a few more centimetres...

Blood had made his hands slippery and while inching forward bit by bit, he suddenly lost his balance and quickly tried to compensate by getting his hip fully under him.

A grating sensation in his back stopped all movement and, as if in slow motion, Carson felt himself crumple back onto the cold stone floor, with no chance whatsoever of preventing it from happening.

At least the pain had finally stopped.

In fact, every sensation from his stomach down had ceased. He couldn't feel his legs anymore.

So close.

So close.

The finality of the situation permeated Carson's exhausted being. He'd done what he could. But fate obviously had other ideas and somehow he felt at ease now, floating. There was no pain anymore, just a heavy tiredness that beckoned him to give in to it.

Settling his head on his arm, the doctor closed his eyes.

If the doors would just open up.

Registering the silent command, the door hissed open to reveal a large, dark room. Light, filtering in from outside, cast a twilight over the bed at the far end, where a pair of woollen socks peeked out from underneath a pile of dark blankets, before sluggishly disappearing back under them.

When no-one attempted to enter or leave and no other movement could be detected, the door closed again, unnoticed.


	4. Chapters 6&7

_- Chapter 6 -_

Thud.

"Mppfffff.

Oh, great.

Well done, McKay. Breaking your neck while falling out of your bed. One way to make people remember you."

Awkwardly climbing back into his bed, Rodney McKay rubbed his eyes with a little more force than necessary and stretched his arms and legs until he heard the odd sound of popping joints. It was still dark outside, only the faint outline of the new day could be seen in the silver streak lining the horizon. Not even six o'clock.

From experience he knew he wouldn't be able to get back to sleep now. That was one reason for his frequent late night shifts. They weren't so much late night as early morning shifts, really, since someone would usually kick him out of the lab at a reasonable hour. He'd get some sleep, maybe two or three hours, wake up and go back to work. Since he could never fall back asleep again for another three hours, this time might as well be put to good use instead of counting sheep, or, in his case, usually Wraith.

They just tended to pop up. It was as much frightening as it was ridiculous to see these creepy creatures hopping over an imaginary wooden fence, one after the other.

Maybe he should tell Kate about that. It would definitely make for an interesting session.

After enjoying the sensation of the residual warmth still radiating from his bed for a couple more moments, he resolutely got up while simultaneously trying to get rid of his boxers and left sock, which almost resulted in another nosedive.

By the time he'd reached the small bathroom, T-shirt, boxers and one pink sock had been successfully disposed of. With an annoyed grunt, the second, yellow sock came flying out of the partially open shower door and joined its brother on the floor.

Ten minutes later he felt clean, but the lack of sleep from the previous days had taken its toll. This was what the first marathon-runner must have felt like after arriving in Sparta. Even the simple act of getting dressed hurt in places he didn't want to think about.

He desperately needed coffee, lots of it. And breakfast… Breakfast. He was actually looking forward to food again. The sandwich he had been forced to eat yesterday night under Sheppard's watchful eyes, had stayed down, but that had been the only good thing about it.

Maybe the crew of the Daedalus had already unloaded the food they brought.

Peanut butter, made out of real peanuts; jam, that wasn't fluorescent; real bread, not that timber-flavoured crap that made McDonald's bread look like a Four-Seasons-Gourmet meal. Rodney's mouth was watering already. He should really wake the major up or check whether Carson was still awake, so they could have their first proper breakfast in months together. They had earned it after all.

Strange. A year ago the thought alone of actually looking forward to having breakfast or lunch together with someone would have been unimaginable. Rodney had even planned his timetable so that as few people as possible would be occupying the cafeterias or mess-halls when he was there. Not anymore.

And now the ZPM. Just thinking about it sent his brain into overdrive. So much to do, so many possibilities to explore. He hoped that Radek was back on his feet; he'd need him today. A schedule and some ground rules for his kids would have to be set up, so they wouldn't burn their curious fingers – or labs – with another stupid stunt like the one yesterday.

Quickly grabbing his radio from the nightstand and positioning it behind his ear, he all but ran out of his room only to connect with something solid. Losing his balance he landed painfully, half on top of the obstruction and half on the floor.

oOo

"What the... Carson!" Rodney couldn't believe, couldn't understand, what he was seeing. His doctor and friend who had patched him up – again – just last night. The one Rodney had left behind, maybe tired but in perfect health mere hours ago. Now this man was lying on his stomach outside his quarters in a pool of blood at the end of a crimson-coloured trail.

Panicking, Rodney dropped to his knees and felt for a pulse, but could find none. "No, no, no, no, no, no, no." This could not be happening.

"Don't do this, Carson. Please, please, don't do this."

Carefully turning the silent figure onto his back, he checked again for any sign of life. Shaking fingers scrambled at the doctor's neck again, but there was nothing.

The world seemed to crumble to pieces right in front of Rodney and he could feel the heat of shocked, helpless tears burning his eyes, but he didn't care.

Preparing Carson for CPR, as the man himself had shown him so many months ago, he paged the major. A part of his brain told him that paging the infirmary would be the more logical choice, but, for some reason, Rodney felt that John Sheppard would be able to fix all this.

"McKay to Major Sheppard. Major. ... MAJOR, WAKE UP!" Rodney positively screamed into his radio, while angling back the doctor's neck to check his airway.

There was something! He had heard something.

"_Rodney? What's going on?" _

If Sheppard had been sleeping, his voice didn't betray it. He was all business but Rodney ignored him, too busy confirming that he had indeed heard Carson breathing.

"_Rodney? Talk to me? Where are you?"_

McKay felt like fainting when he finally calmed down enough to find the right spot. A pulse was beating; faint and erratic, but there none the less.

"_Okay, I'm on my way to your room, now. If you're somewhere else, tell me!"_ John's tone was sharp; this was the U.S. Air Force Major speaking.

"I...I'm here, Major. It's Carson. We need a medical team here ASAP."

"_I'm on it. Sit tight"_

oOo

Now that he knew that Carson was still alive, Rodney was able to breathe again. Swallowing hard against the nausea, sight and smell of so much blood had induced, he carefully tried to peel away the doctor's once pristine white shirt.

Dried blood had glued the cloth to the skin around the wound, and Rodney quickly stopped his ministrations, fearful that he would disturb any clotting and possibly restart the bleeding, which had obviously stopped some time ago.

There couldn't be much left anyway.

"Carson?" Rodney gently slapped the unresponsive man's cheek. "Carson, come on. Can you hear me? Please?" The doctor still showed no reaction, so Rodney tried to make him as comfortable as he could.

He only had to wait a short time until he heard the squeaking sound of rapidly approaching footsteps.

"Oh, crap." Sheppard rounded the corner at a run and skidded to a halt next to Rodney. "Is he...?"

"Alive. Barely." Rodney didn't look up.

"What happened?" John re-holstered his gun, which he had unconsciously drawn, to help Rodney elevate Beckett's feet onto the physicist's bunched up jacket.

"How the hell should I know? I woke up, had a shower, came out and stumbled over him. Obviously someone shot him!" McKay's voice was steadily rising in volume and velocity. This was more than he could handle right now.

"It's okay, calm down. He'll be fine, I'm sure." Sheppard held two fingers to Carson's throat, then looked worriedly at the messy stomach injury.

"Yeah? When did you become a seer?" Shrugging off the comforting hand landing on his shoulder, McKay was secretly thankful for Sheppard as always playing the optimist. Well placed lies were sometimes easier to live with than the harsh truth.

Rodney pointed at the trail of blood leading away from them. "You came from there. Where does it lead? Where'd he come from?"

John busied himself keeping check of Carson's pulse, murmuring words of comfort to the oblivious doctor.

"Major?"

Still not meeting McKay's eyes, he draped his own jacket over Beckett in an attempt to preserve what little warmth was left in the still body. "Your lab."

At that moment a bleary-eyed looking Dr Biro and two med assistants came running, pushed an unresisting Rodney out of the way and began working on their boss.

Careful to avoid disturbing the urgent but well rehearsed movements of the doctors, Rodney joined Sheppard, who was now stiffly leaning on the opposite wall, watching the small crowd of people with an unreadable expression on his face. "What do you mean, 'my lab'?" his voice was a barely contained whisper, breaking slightly.

"Whatever happened must have happened there," the major informed him gently. "Then he seems to have crawled here for help. You didn't hear anything?"

"Yes, of course, I did. I was lying in bed, heard Carson getting shot, waited until he crawled all the way here on all fours, then I went to sleep, letting him bleed peacefully to death on my doorstep. What the hell kind of a question is that? No, I didn't hear anything. I hardly remember getting into bed thanks to all the happy juices, Carson pumped into me yesterday!" At that moment Rodney really wished his tone didn't have the tendency to get all snappy and accusatory whenever he was scared, but he just couldn't help it.

Before John had a chance to respond, Dr Biro spoke up, her voice sharp and professional. "Dr McKay, Major Sheppard. We're ready to transport him now. It will most likely take a while for us to know anything for certain." Looking over the two anxious men and the bloodstains on their hands and clothes, she ordered, "Get yourself cleaned up first, before coming to the infirmary."

"How is he?" John beat Rodney by a second.

"Not good. I'll let you know as soon as we know more." With that the petite doctor hurried after the gurney, which was already out of sight, with McKay hard on her heels. The major stayed back, alerted a couple more of his men, then headed to the lab.

oOo

By the time Rodney had caught up with the medics they were already half way to the infirmary. Not daring to interfere with whatever Dr Biro was doing at the top end of the gurney, he carefully gripped Carson's blanket-covered, too-cold ankle, and walked dazedly alongside.

Carson looked awful. The skin Rodney could actually see was paper-white; there were dark circles under the doctor's sunken eyes, his lips split and raw-looking. Rodney was actually surprised that the oxygen mask over his friend's face still misted over regularly in sync with the shallow, unsteady breathing.

In sharp contrast to his pale face, dark red stains of blood covered the rest of his body, already almost dried black. Flakes of dried blood had settled onto the white mattress underneath him, painting a horrid shadow around the man.

McKay couldn't help but wonder just what in the world had happened. It had all been over last night, or so he'd thought. Why this now?

Before long, they entered the now almost quiet infirmary, but the physicist was oblivious to his surroundings until someone roughly pulled his hand away and shoved him gently, but determinedly, into the waiting area. The last thing he saw were more people swarming over the gurney and blocking his view before the door to the OR swallowed the group.

There was nothing else for him to do, but his head was still trying to get up to speed with everything that had happened during the last 7 minutes; when a potentially great day had turned out to have the potential of being his worst day ever. Which was saying something considering the events of the past week.

Looking around for the, by now gruesomely familiar, grey chairs that Carson had hijacked from the corridors all those months ago, Rodney realized they were gone. Three, now empty, bunks had replaced them, and were standing stripped of their bedding along the back wall; a desolate remainder of yesterday's lack of space for the wounded.

Sighing tiredly he sat down on one corner of the bunk nearest to him only to jump back up when someone else suddenly joined him in the room.

"Elizabeth." He hadn't heard her come in.

"Rodney. How is he?" She sounded a little breathless, her face showing a mixture of shock, disbelief and worry.

Wringing his hands nervously, McKay looked towards the closed doors before answering. "I don't know. They just took him to the OR. Last thing I saw he was still alive."

"Thank goodness." Elizabeth closed her eyes in relief, then guided him back to one of the bunks and sat down next to him, covering her tired face with both hands.

"Uh. You okay?" McKay leaned over a little, awkwardly patting her back as if unsure how to react to her uncharacteristic demeanour.

Elizabeth stayed silent for a moment but then removed her hands from her face and rested her elbows on her thighs, fingers interlaced and thumbs rubbing together anxiously. "Sorry", she gave him a forced smile, "I'd had hoped that this was all over. I didn't expect to get a call like that again so soon. Do you know what happened?"

For some reason this question got his defences up again. Why did everyone think he knew anything just because he'd been the one to find Carson. Wrapping his arms around his midsection, Rodney got up and started pacing. "How should I know? All I know is I woke up, left my room to get some breakfast and found Beckett half-dead in a pool of his own blood."

His voice was steadily rising in volume again and the circles he walked increased in numbers from his quickening steps. Suddenly the woman blocked his path, grabbed him by both shoulders and steered him back to a seat next to her.

"Sit down, Rodney. It's alright. John went to investigate what happened and we'll know soon enough. Have you had something to eat, yet?" Not waiting for a reply, Elizabeth got up. Rodney had the sneaking suspicion she'd read Carson's report from last night's incident. "I'll get us something. Be right back."

oOo

It took almost an hour until news arrived. Elizabeth had forced Rodney to get cleaned up and eat the bagel, scrambled eggs and yoghurt she'd brought. She'd even allowed him coffee after he drank some apple-juice. Yes, she definitely had heard about yesterday, but Rodney had to admit he felt a lot better after having eaten some food.

The major had inquired several times over the radio about news, but had yet to tell them what, if anything, he'd found out.

Elizabeth had started telling Rodney about what was being done in the control room and what they had accomplished so far in respect to the city's repair. He realized that the expedition's leader had obviously gotten very little sleep, if any at all, the previous night, while he'd slept like a baby. And not only did he sleep while other people were still working, he'd somehow slept through Carson getting shot and literally crawling to his room for help. How could he have slept through that?

His mind kept drifting away and he found himself zoning out on Elizabeth's voice, her own tone betraying little interest in what she told him about fixed bulkhead doors or increased generator capacities, herself.

How was he supposed to live with it if Carson died and it had been in Rodney's power to prevent it, if he'd just been awake? And, if the major was right and whatever had happened had happened in his very own lab, then there definitely must have been something he could have done to prevent it.

All because he had slept.

Rodney knew he was being ridiculous, but vowing never to sleep again and consequently feeling sorry for himself was a good distraction from worrying about Carson.

He didn't even realise that Elizabeth had stopped talking until he felt her getting up. He watched her walk towards the tall Dr Robinson who had emerged from the OR behind him. The dark-skinned doctor looked tired, much older than his 30 something years. Quickly scrambling to his feet himself, Rodney joined them just outside the waiting room.

Neither Rodney nor Elizabeth managed to actually form the words to ask the dreaded question, but it was answered with a tight smile, lips pressed together until they were white. "He's still with us. The bullet missed vital organs and we managed to control the internal bleeding. Dr Biro is still working on him, but he should come out of surgery soon."

"Then why do I have the feeling there's a huge 'but' involved here?" Rodney didn't like the younger man's tone and carefully chosen words.

"Because there is, I'm afraid." The doctor massaged his temple, obviously considering how to tell them the bad news.

"Martin?" Clearly Elizabeth was just as ready to crawl out of her skin as Rodney was.

"All in all, Dr Beckett is a very lucky man. The bullet didn't do nearly as much damage as it could have, and the bleeding was slow enough to stop on its own after a while. If it hadn't, he'd be dead." The man's voice showed professional detachment, but the tiny bit of hesitation before each sentence and a few too many sighs gave away the concern he was feeling.

"Slow?" Rodney asked incredulously, "you haven't seen the corridor, the Red Sea pales in comparison!"

"I know. And this is where the problem is. Due to the fact that it took as long as it did to find him, Dr Beckett nearly bled out before the bleeding did finally stop, so we're having difficulties keeping his BP up in order to stabilise him." Another sigh. "Apart from that, the bullet didn't go all the way through, but stopped and is lodged dangerously close to his spinal column. From what we've been able to determine his… ahm… moving around resulted in additional damage. We don't know how severe it is yet and…"

"Additional damage? What kind of damage? Wait a minute. His spine, you say? Oh god, I moved him!" Rodney choked out. "When I found him, he lay on his stomach and I rolled him over! I paralysed him, didn't I?"

The other man crossed the short distance between himself and the physicist and lay a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Dr McKay, I can't say for certain, of course, but judging from what Dr Biro told me, the damage had already been done by the bullet itself and Carson's own attempt to get to help. You did good in getting him here quickly after you found him."

"So he's not paralysed, is he?" Shrugging off the other man's hand, Rodney started gesticulating wildly to hide the fear that had settled inside his stomach. He was getting impatient with the doctor's beating around the proverbial bush.

"We'll have to see once he is awake. Right now, getting his BP up and fighting off any infection is paramount. Dr Biro and I are still debating whether or not to remove the bullet, but, either way, he is too weak right now for us to continue surgery. We have to wait until his condition stabilises.

Right now, I'm afraid, it seems like there is some impairment. But this could be related to the projectile's position and not an indication of actual nerve damage. If the next couple of hours go well, and provided there are no further complications, he should pull through just fine."

"'Just fine' as in alive, but unable to walk." Rodney almost spat out, redirecting his anger and hopelessness onto the messenger.

"Dr McKay", Robinson said softly, "right now, the most important thing is that he's alive. We'll cope with everything else once the situation presents itself."

"Can we see him?" Elizabeth asked. As usual, she was the voice of reason.

"I'll get you, once he's settled," the doctor promised then excused himself.

- Chapter 7 -

It took almost another hour until, true to his word, Dr Robinson returned to let Rodney into the small cubicle set up as an ICU. After the fifth frantic call for help, Elizabeth had reluctantly returned to the control room, to mediate between her own people and the new Daedalus crew. And there was still no sign of the major.

Before Rodney had a chance to enter the small room, a blonde nurse, he remembered Carson calling Mary…Marie or Maria or something like that, carried one of the grey, bulky, former waiting-room chairs over and placed it next to Carson's bed. Quickly checking his vitals and noting them on a chart, she softly ran her hand over her unresponsive boss' forehead, gave McKay a concerned smile then left them alone.

Carson actually didn't look so bad anymore. The blood was all gone, and there even was a tiny bit of colour on his cheeks. What made the scene so eerie wasn't the multitude of cables, protruding from all imaginable and unimaginable parts of the doctor's body, hooked up to half a dozen beeping, dripping and moving machines; the scary part was the way he lay there.

Usually people were lying in the infirmary propped up on a comfortable pillow, the head of the bed inclined, if only a little. This time though, Carson lay completely flat, with only the smallest of pillows under his head, and he wasn't moving at all. Not even a twitch. Only the reassuring hollow sound of breath against a mask still appeared human.

Rodney was at a loss what to do. Was he supposed to talk or touch? Or just sit there and do nothing? Sheppard was usually a lot better at these kinds of things and he wished with increasing force that the major would show up. Nervously avoiding all lines and cables in the way, Rodney touched the doctor's shoulder with two fingers. When no alarms went off and Carson didn't fall apart, they were joined by the other three.

"Oh, Carson. Why did this have to happen? You're supposed to be the one watching over us and not the other way around. That's just not fair. You're the doctor here, after all. What if I get hurt while repairing the mess the Wraith left us? Or what if Teyla accidentally breaks the major? What are we going to do then, huh?"

His voice started to squeak a little and he stopped to rub over his forehead, painfully hard. "Why didn't you make just a little more noise, huh? Why didn't I hear you? Why didn't I? I don't usually have such a deep sleep. Must be because of your happy juices. Why did you have to give them to me anyway? Didn't you trust my word to go to bed? Besides you looked in more desperate need of sleep anyway. Should have followed your own advice, then all this wouldn't have happened. What were you doing in my…"

"How is he?"

Rodney almost jumped out of his skin when John Sheppard suddenly appeared behind him.

"Major! Oh, ah, ahm, not so good, but Dr Biro is now fairly certain he'll pull through." McKay tried to give John an encouraging smile, which turned into a frown when he saw the major's dark expression and the way Sheppard avoided looking at him.

"That's good. Let's go."

"What? Why? Major, what are you…?"

John had grabbed Rodney by his upper arm. And, while not being tight enough to hurt, it forced him into a stumbling trot behind Sheppard into the main area of the infirmary, then out and towards the control room.

Rodney was too surprised to put up much of a fight and let himself be dragged along and shoved into the conference room.

Radek was sitting behind his laptop, biting his lower lip. He shot nervous glances in the direction of the two entering men. Rodney got the distinct impression that, if given the chance, Radek would make a run for it, which was rather disconcerting. Elizabeth was standing in the far corner, arms wrapped around her body and met his eyes with an unreadable look.

John motioned him in no uncertain terms to sit next to Zelenka and something told Rodney to follow the unspoken order without so much as a squeak this time.

Suddenly a gun slammed onto the table in front of him, making everyone in the room jump. It spun around its own axis a couple of times before coming to a halt.

"Recognise this?"


	5. Chapter 8

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_- Chapter 8 -_

"Recognise this?"

The major's sharp voice startled Radek Zelenka almost more than the sudden loud clatter of the gun hitting the table had. He'd been aware that Sheppard's mood had dropped during the investigation of last night's incident, but now the room grew almost bone-chillingly cold.

Radek tried to stay as invisible as possible behind his computer, while glancing nervously at McKay. No matter what, this would not go down easy for any of them.

"That's a gun?" McKay's voice rasped a bit, confusion written all over his face. He had no idea what was going on, but the major's behaviour clearly scared him.

"That's right. It's YOUR gun!"

"Uhm…Major, as much as I would like to play 'I spy' with you, I have much more pressing things to do. So either you tell me what this little scene is all about, or I'm going back to the…"

"Sit down." Small words, but they had the desired effect. Rodney fell back into his chair.

"Carson was shot with your gun."

"What?" Radek watched Rodney visibly pale. "How? I mean why...who?"

Radek had never seen Sheppard so furious, least of all towards Rodney. He was angry, but his whole body language was stiff and controlled, the clenching of both fists and a conscious effort to stay within McKay's personal space the only physical indications of what was to come.

"Tell me about this gun, McKay." Judging from the tone, the major could have been asking about the weather.

"It's a gun. What's there to tell?" Rodney's voice broke; uncertainty and weariness made his eyes appear unnaturally bright.

McKay's seemingly nonchalant answer set something loose, and Sheppard leaned over even further, their noses almost touching. "So, it wasn't you who didn't secure the magazine properly, so that it fell out. It wasn't you who would have got himself killed because of it, if it hadn't been for Teyla. It wasn't you who tried to shoot with a jammed weapon. And it wasn't YOU who knowingly left a DAMAGED weapon, with the SAFETY OFF, like this morning's sandwich, just LYING AROUND."

Rodney's eyes had grown big, all movement of his body ceased with growing understanding.

"Let me show you what there is to tell. Zelenka?" John never lost eye contact with the physicist.

Showing Rodney what had happened seemed so cruel, Zelenka was tempted to argue about it with Sheppard, or, better yet, to just run away and let the man do it himself. But he guessed he just wasn't brave enough. And Dr Weir, still standing in the corner, clearly wasn't about to interfere either, her eyes were downcast however.

"Radek?" Rodney's breathless, fearful voice broke through his thoughts and the engineer found himself the centre of attention.

"Oh, yes, yes." He busied himself on the laptop, taking more time than necessary. All programs had already been running before the major had even gone to the infirmary to fetch McKay. At last he turned the computer around, so that Rodney could see the screen. It was divided into two separate frames, showing frozen images of Rodney on the left and Carson on the right. Both videos clearly showing footage of the security cameras in their lab.

Radek had seen these shots twice already and wasn't sure he could stomach a third round. Propping up his head with his hand, elbow on an armrest and fingers partially covering his eyes, he observed his friend, the only one in the room who hadn't seen the material, yet.

With a click, the left scene started moving.

They could see Rodney walking around, then standing still for a few seconds, back to the camera, so they couldn't see what he was doing, until he turned and threw a gun onto a shelf.

Radek saw the major wince.

Then, after a few more moments, something obviously startled the physicist, and he threw a thick stack of folders right onto the weapon and left the room in a rush.

Before Radek had a chance to stop the video, Sheppard leaned over, stopped the left frame and started the right. Right on cue for Carson to throw a couple of books onto the very same shelf, then suddenly stagger back and fall; bright red blood beginning to stain his shirt.

As glad as Zelenka was that the cameras didn't record sound, it made the happenings almost more horrible to watch. It felt like a black-and-white slapstick silent movie scene from the 30's, only in colour and very real and oh so not funny.

Colour was something now completely missing from Rodney's face, but the major seemed oblivious to it, as he pressed the fast-forward button and made them watch Carson's lonely crawl through the lab, and, replacing the lab scene on the left, through the corridor to McKay's quarters in fast-motion. The little timer in the top right corner happily providing them with proof of just how much time it had taken their injured friend to get to where he was ultimately found. They even watched the door open and close again, before Radek finally had enough and closed the lid of the computer with a snap.

Rodney obviously took that as his cue, shoved the chair he was sitting on back with so much force it toppled over, and ran from the room, hand clasped over his mouth. He didn't quite make it, but Elizabeth, who had stayed in the background so far, handed him a bin; just in time for Rodney to lose everything he had eaten in days.

Sadly, John didn't make a move to help the physicist, as Radek would have expected him to. There was something more going on with the major, but he couldn't place exactly what that was. Instead, he saw the other man exchange a look with Elizabeth; then he simply turned, and, walking around the still heaving Rodney, left.

Radek joined Elizabeth and Rodney on the floor, offering a tissue and a supporting hand on McKay's back.

"I killed him."

"As far as I know, Carson is alive, so how do you think you killed him?" Radek knew kid gloves wouldn't help here, but it earned him a bitter look from Rodney.

"He is… one of my friends is badly hurt, lying in the infirmary, most likely paralysed for the rest of his life. You saw the video. I am responsible." Rodney said that so matter-of-factly that Radek was at a loss as to how to respond, and, before either of them found the right words, McKay wiped his mouth, got up and stormed out.

Elizabeth turned to follow, but Zelenka held her back.

"Let him go."

"But…"

"What would you tell him? … Yes, there is nothing we could say now. Let him come to terms with it first."

"Dr Weir? We could use your help out here." One of the young engineers working in the control room peeked through the door, unsure whether or not to come in.

"I'm coming. Dr Zelenka?"

"Don't worry, I'll look after them."

oOo

He intended on doing just that, but Radek's first stop was the infirmary. He didn't expect to find Rodney there at the moment, but he'd hoped that at least Major Sheppard would be here. However, except for a nurse, who was connecting a new blood-filled bag to a line disappearing in Carson's arm, no-one was there.

Zelenka smiled at her. "How is he?"

Her smile wasn't quite as bright as he had hoped. "Holding his own. We're still having some problems with his blood pressure and infection has set in."

"I see." Radek for some reason felt immensely disappointed by the news, he was more than ready to hear something better. This day had already started out worse than yesterday had ended. "And his legs?"

"I'm sorry, we still don't know more."

The nurse left him to tend to the other patients and the engineer sat down at the edge of the large seat.

"Hi, Carson. You are probably wondering why I'm here and not Major or Rodney. Don't worry, they're both fine and will be here shortly, I'm sure. But they told me to tell you to get better real quick." Sighing deeply, "That would be good for us all…"

He continued talking to the doctor and when he ran out of things to say, he followed the suggestion of one of the passing nurses to cool Carson's head, already burning with fever, with a wet cloth. All the while hoping Rodney or Sheppard would show up. He really liked Carson and saw him as a good friend. But still he knew, the bond between these three was stronger than anything and Carson needed them to be here. Especially now.

But, even after three hours, neither of them had shown up.

Radek was torn between leaving Carson and going to hunt them down, or staying and keeping the restless, feverish man company. When Carson began muttering and moving uncoordinatedly, unfortunately, not his legs, as Radek sadly noticed, he was shooed out by Dr Biro, who already looked like one of her favourite test-subjects. He figured this was his cue to find the others.

oOo

It didn't take long to find Major Sheppard. The hard, painful sound of skin against plastic could be heard as soon as Radek stepped out of the transporter. He crossed the remaining distance to the gym, then waited, arms folded, for Sheppard to sense him.

From the looks of it, this seemed to be a pretty good day for the major to stand a chance at actually beating Teyla for once. Maybe not with sticks, but possibly in hand-to-hand-combat. The punching bag definitely seemed to be losing, being subjected to fast, angry rounds of vicious kicks.

Zelenka stayed silent, until the kicks started to slow and weren't able to swing the bag halfway across the hall with every hit anymore.

He wasn't exactly sure how to proceed. It was an every day occurrence that Rodney needed some ass-kicking and Radek had already gotten a 'masters degree' for that from the rest of his department, after one of the worse bad-McKay-days. But the major usually didn't need that, or whenever he did Dr Weir did a pretty good job with it.

Had he any right to interfere in this case?

But then Radek remembered Carson in the infirmary. Apart from his own staff none of his friends were there with him now and Carson had fought so hard to stay with them; if anything, the tape proved that much. Only now, the two most important people had pretty much deserted him.

"Major."

"Zelenka." Sheppard didn't seem overly surprised to see him here.

"If you don't mind me asking, but what are you doing here?" Radek was proud of his brave approach, but kept his distance.

"What's it look like?" The kicking grew more vicious again.

"Doesn't look like sitting in the infirmary."

Silence. Then, "You had a point for coming here?"

"I have a point for everything I do."

"Good for you, Doc." Sheppard had stopped torturing the punching bag again, and Radek could see the blood running from raw knuckles. Picking up a towel and a small blue bag, the major passed Zelenka to get out the door.

Radek tried to match strides. "Major, I don't know what exactly is wrong. Maybe last days' events are catching up, I don't know. But quite frankly, right now, I don't really care. I see you are here, alive, able to stand, walk, eat and talk. And that tells me, you being here is selfish act. You can be angry with Rodney, if that makes you feel better, but I cannot recall Carson doing anything wrong that deserves being left alone."

For a while, Radek wasn't sure if the major wouldn't just hit him right where he stood. But, after playing the staring game for a minute, John seemed to deflate and suddenly looked very old and very, very tired.

"Okay." Radek barely even heard the mumbled reply, and even when he did he didn't know to what the major had just agreed to. It was too late to ask Sheppard though, since the man had already disappeared into the transporter.

oOo

Finding Rodney proved more of a challenge. Radek looked everywhere he could think of.

The first destination was the lab. He had to swallow the big lump in his throat when he came across the coffee-brown line, running from the door through the corridor before disappearing round a corner. Someone had obviously tried to clean it, but the attempt hadn't been entirely successful.

He wasn't overly surprised not to find McKay in here, but all the computers and equipment were still in the room as well, so the Chief of Science hadn't been back here at all.

The search in the scientist's quarters, the control room and virtually every single balcony in the city had come up void of one Rodney McKay, too, and Radek had long since given up trying to call him on the radio.

The engineer was just about ready to open the cupboards in the mess-hall, when a city-wide call broke the relative quiet of the kitchen.

"_Dr McKay, Major Sheppard, please report to the infirmary. I repeat, Dr McKay, Major Sheppard please report to the infirmary." _

That could either be very good or very bad. Radek hoped to everything that might listen it would be the former. In any case, now, he had a chance of finding Rodney, provided the stubborn man did what he was told.

Not quite able to suppress the feeling that the call might mean something very bad, Radek hurried towards the nearest transporter.

oOo

Over the years, many of his patients had told him that waking up from a drug-induced sleep was horrible. Now Carson had a front-row seat and couldn't help but agree. It was hard work to fight his way out of the big cotton-texture-like fog in which he seemed to be drowning. And the nice floaty feeling that reminded him of the roller-coaster trip he always had the second he lay down after a night out, started to recede.

The struggle left him breathless and more than once he was tempted to just give in to the comforting blackness. But there was someone talking to him, urging him to keep fighting his way out.

With rising awareness, though, the pain came; and with the pain, the heat. He couldn't place where he hurt, but the heat was starting to suffocate him and Carson tried to move away from it, tried to escape, but he seemed a prisoner inside his own leaden body, trapped somewhere between unconsciousness and the bright world outside.

He felt hands on his body; too many hands. They were moving him, touching him. And it hurt. But then someone was pressing something blissfully cold to his forehead. It felt like heaven. Using the sensation as an anchor to guide him back, Carson, summoning every ounce of energy he had left, finally broke free of the heavy twilight and slowly opened his eyes.

"Look who's finally awake!" Maria beamed down at him with her patented Mexican smile, which turned into a slight frown, when no reaction from her patient was forthcoming.

He wanted to respond to her, but everything seemed to go into slow-motion and he was just so tired and the pain made it hard to think.

"Hursss. Hot."

The smile was back and she seemed to be doing something just outside his field of vision, when the pain slowly dulled to a throbbing he could ignore for the moment. Then the cold cloth was back, cooling his face and neck and he couldn't help but drift away again. The quiet, soothing words from somewhere nearby telling him it was okay to do so, even if he didn't understand what exactly they were saying.

Something woke him again. The sense for the passing of time had deserted him and Carson had no idea if he had been asleep for minutes or days. It had been long enough, however, for the nurse to leave and he was grateful that the cold rag was no longer on his face. He was so cold.

There was that sound again; the one which had woken him up. It was close. Plastic squeaking slightly on the floor, followed by a quiet tapping and the rustling of clothes. Someone was there. It took another monumental effort to open his eyes; the lids seemed even heavier than before. But finally Carson could see through blurry eyes that someone was indeed standing not far away. John Sheppard.

The doctor was grateful to see him here. When neither Rodney nor the major had been there the first time he woke up, he was concerned that something had happened to them as well. And, admitting this made him feel slightly guilty, he just didn't want to be alone. The others were always there for one another, and even when Carson was down with a concussion after the storm, Rodney and Sheppard had popped in for a visit almost every other hour, after pretty much taking up residence in the infirmary for the first night. So they'd be here now, too, and the thought made him more grateful than he liked to admit. The major might even be able to tell him what had happened.

But before Carson had found the strength to alert John that he was awake, and maybe even convince him to pile another five blankets on top of him, Sheppard suddenly turned on his heels and walked away.

A nurse tried to intercept him, but all Carson heard him say was something like "I'm sorry…I… work to do."

And then Rodney came into the room.

The doctor tried to see what was going on, but his energy was running out fast and he closed his eyes and just tried to listen to his friends. Which proved easier by the minute, when the former urgent whispers turned more and more into a shouting match between the two.

"What happened? Is he alright? He isn't…is he?" Rodney.

"No he isn't. No thanks to you, though." Sheppard, this time. More venomous than Carson had ever heard him.

"Major, I…"

"What? You're sorry? That it happened, or that I found out?"

"You know that I would never…that I'd never…" There was something uncharacteristic in Rodney's voice. Was is desperation? Resignation?

"Hell, McKay. We lost 49 people here in the city in the past 70 hours. And that's not even counting Grodin and Ford. They are dead. They died defending Atlantis with all they had. With their LIVES, McKay. They won't come back. And what did you do? You almost got yourself killed with your own stupidity. After everything we've been through, after all the training, you still make…"

"It was a mistake. I know that." Resignation. How weird.

"A mistake is to spell 'science' with a 'z'. Being stupid enough not to secure a magazine equals active suicide; and leaving a weapon lying around with the safety off for anyone to stumble over it, is MURDER."

Carson was still missing too many details about what had happened, but vague memories of Rodney's lab and lying on the ground started to come back to him. Enough to get an idea of what had occurred. No matter what, though, Carson could hear in John's voice, as furious and venom-laden as the words were that came spitting out of the man's mouth, he didn't mean what he said.

Beckett had seen the major's reaction every time he had to tell him that someone else had died. He was grieving, and didn't know another way to vent the stress and overwhelming emotions.

Rodney, however, couldn't see behind the façade.

"You…you can't mean that."

"Like hell I do. Tell me, would Carson be in here if it wasn't for you? Would he be lying in the infirmary in intensive care, fighting for his life and quite possibly being paralysed for the rest of that life if not for you? Tell me, Rodney, would he?"

Carson missed Rodney's response. He was too busy panicking about what he had heard the major say.

Paralysed? No, he wasn't paralysed. He could feel his legs - or could he? Yes, he could definitely feel his right leg, but it was dull and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't move it. He could feel his breath coming in shorter and shorter spurts; the oxygen wouldn't quite reach his lungs, even though he pressed the mask with extra force against his face. The panic attack threatened to overwhelm him. Black spots were already dancing in front of his eyes and the pain was back with a vengeance.

"Carson, it's okay, it's okay. Calm down, you're going to be fine." He didn't care who said that, all he wanted was to get out, to stand up, but too many people were holding him down now. Then there was a slight tug on his arm, so slight he almost missed it, and then, there was nothing.


	6. Chapters 9 through 11

_- Chapter 9 -_

Radek arrived just in time to see Rodney disappear into the infirmary. Finally. A satisfied grin spread over his face. Good, Rodney had come, now everything would sort itself out. He still didn't know the reason why the major and Rodney had been summoned to the infirmary, but hesitated to go in after the physicist.

Just when he had almost decided to leave again, the door opened and Dr Robinson stepped out. He was the doctor who had taken care of his face the previous evening. Subconsciously, Radek rubbed the bridge of his nose and silently thanked whoever had invented painkillers.

"Dr Zelenka. Are you alright?"

"What? Oh, yes, yes, I'm fine. What about Dr Beckett? I heard the call, he is okay?"

"Well, the fever still hasn't broken, unfortunately, but we managed to bring it down a little. He was awake for a bit. That's why we called Major Sheppard and Dr McKay."

"Is Major Sheppard in there, too?"

"Yes, he is with Carson…" Dr Robinson began, but stopped when they heard an angry voice from inside the closed doors.

…_With their LIVES, McKay… got yourself killed with your own stupidity… after all the training, you still make…"_

" _a mistake."_

"… _to spell 'science' with a 'z'. Being stupid enough not to secure a magazine equals active suicide; and leaving a weapon lying around with the safety off for anyone to stumble over it, is MURDER."_

"…_mean that…"_

"_Like hell I do! Tell me, would Carson be in here, if it wasn't for you? Would he be lying in the infirmary in intensive care, fighting for his life and quite possibly being paralysed for the rest of that life if not for you? Tell me, Rodney, would he?"_

Radek had difficulties making out Rodney's responses, whereas Sheppard's had become increasingly easier to understand the louder the soldier yelled.

"O-oh." Radek had a feeling things hadn't gone quite according to his wishes. Casting a look to his counterpart he could see the almost ever present smile on the other man's face was gone and had been replaced with anger.

"What do they think they're doing?" Clearly fuming, the doctor went back through the glass-covered doors. Zelenka followed closely behind. He hoped, with all his might, that Carson hadn't been woken up by this little scene.

oOo

His prayers hadn't been heard.

Radek couldn't quite see behind the screen that had been placed partially around Carson's bed, but just looking at the hectically moving shadows and hearing the urgent voices told him all he needed to know. Not having any sympathy to spare for either McKay or Sheppard at that moment, Zelenka quickly passed them by to find out what was happening.

Dr Robinson was clearly prepared to give these two the dressing down of the century, but everyone's attention was suddenly on the bed behind them. Radek felt Rodney follow him, Sheppard stayed where he was, rooted to the spot.

They didn't get very far, however, before they were stopped by two of the USAF medics.

"I'm sorry, Sirs, you have to give the doctors some room."

Behind them, Radek could see Carson fighting the people holding him down, clearly in a state of panic but only half conscious. Dr Biro was talking to him, was trying to calm him down, but to no avail.

For a second, the hiss of an opening door distracted Radek and he looked behind him just in time to see the major leave in a rush.

"Let them through." Biro ordered sharply. "Dr McKay, try to calm him down; let him know you are here. He's only doing himself more harm if he keeps that up.

There was hesitation and Radek felt Rodney start shaking next to him, but the physicist immediately shied away when Radek tried to close the distance between them with an outstretched hand.

"I…I…can't." Rodney stumbled a couple of steps backwards. He looked horrible, worse than he had yesterday after days without sleep. And when he suddenly turned and ran out of the room, Radek was too surprised to stop him.

"Rodney!" Zelenka wanted to follow him, but had to make sure that Carson was alright first. Someone had obviously managed to hold the doctor still long enough to administer a sedative. Slowly the flailing of the arms stopped until, to everyone's relief, Carson finally passed out.

"That went well." You had to admire Biro's dryness, sometimes. "Let's get some x-rays and see how much damage he managed to do."

"Doctor?"

"I'll let you know. Try to get Dr McKay in here. Dr Beckett ordered a check-up after last night and he didn't really look good." Understatement of the year.

_- Chapter 10 -_

"Dr Zelenka. Wait up, please!"

Radek had stayed in the infirmary until they rolled Carson out of sight, before hurrying after Dr McKay. Again, he had no idea where the physicist might have run off to, so, sighing audibly and fiercely rubbing his face, Radek started his search all over again. A call from behind stopped him halfway down a hall and he turned around.

"Sergeant…?" He knew he knew the woman's name. After all, it was she who had been assigned to watch his back during the Siege whenever he'd had to run around the city trying to keep up with Rodney's orders. She had only recently arrived on the Daedalus, but Radek usually had a good reputation when it came to remembering people's names. This time, though, no matter how hard he tried, his tired brain came up empty.

"Drewitz, Sir." She seemed disappointed.

"Right, right. I'm sorry. Can I help you with something?"

"Dr Weir requested your or Dr McKay's presence in the control room."

"What's wrong now?" Radek realised it was a stupid question as soon as the words had left his mouth, but, if the Sergeant thought so too, she didn't let it show and answered with a small, but rather charming, smile.

"I don't know exactly, but judging from what I've seen, Sir: what's right there?"

"True." He smiled back, but straightened up when he caught himself staring at her. Embarrassed, Radek cleared his throat and quickly excused himself with a curt nod, before addressing her a last time. "Oh, uh, why didn't Dr Weir call me on the radio?"

"She said she'd tried to get through to Dr McKay but he isn't answering, so I volunteered to come look for you."

"I see." No surprise on the McKay front there. He could only hope Rodney wouldn't do anything stupid while he was held up in the control room. Then a thought occurred to him. "So you are still looking for Dr McKay, yes?"

"No. I was told to get either one of you, so I'm on my way back. Something wrong?"

"No, no, nothing's wrong." Nothing at all. "But in case you see Dr McKay, could you call me, please?"

"Of course." She readily agreed, obviously not finding anything out of the ordinary in Radek's question. So why was he feeling like he just cheated on his friend?

oOo

_What's right there?_

Indeed.

The control room was a mess. Probably now more than ever. With too few specialists who were able to help with the equipment, too many half-hearted attempts at repair had been made by everyone else, seemingly from the chef to the last janitor. Radek groaned inwardly. To fix the fixing would most likely take longer than if they had waited for the actual engineers to do the work. At least Rodney was nowhere in sight. Zelenka had an idea of the way the physicist would react if he saw what had been done to the controls.

Crouching down in front of the power control console, Radek tugged at the first irregularly flickering, vitreous crystal without much success. From his position on the floor he had a good view over most of the main workstations overlooking the gate-room. For a second the tugging and pulling stopped as he heard the squeaking of a chair. Peter's chair.

That chair shouldn't squeak. Not now. Not anymore.

The Canadian sitting on it was busy chatting with one of the marines from the Daedalus and didn't notice Radek's glances. The normality of the situation felt wrong somehow; that someone was already occupying this very chair felt like a violation, a dishonouring of a good man.

He missed Grodin. Until now there hadn't been a chance to deal with the emotional side of last days' events; for any of them. Unfortunately Radek had the feeling it would still be a while until they could afford to do that. Peter had known the computers better than anyone, besides maybe Rodney or himself. And he had been one of his closest friends.

He was gone now. As were many others. The tugging started again, growing into a forceful yanking, which still had no visible effect on the tenacious crystal.

Radek knew of Peter's girlfriend he'd left behind on Earth; knew he had been on holiday in Prague with his parents when he was 9 years old and knew that Peter preferred Darjeeling to Earl Grey. "The one think I don't have in common with Captain Picard - besides the hair" he'd said. A brief smile flashed over Radek's face at the fond memory and the sudden truth that Peter would never again sit in this squeaking chair punched him like a fist in the stomach.

If this was almost too much for him to bear, how would Rodney cope and what about Carson, who always had a front row seat for each and every death in the city? Biting his upper lip hard to stop his emotions bubbling up further, Radek concentrated on the problems at hand. Some things had to wait now.

With a frustrated cry he smashed a screwdriver into the crystal which dropped to the ground with a satisfying clatter.

oOo

"How are things coming along?" Zelenka had been working for a couple of hours now and wasn't surprised that Elizabeth was looking for an update. Still, he hoped she wouldn't notice the faint red spots that always blossomed on his cheeks whenever he saw her.

"Not too bad. The power fluctuations have stopped and we successfully integrated the ZPM into the system with our own generators. So far everything seems to be working fine. As for the repairs, due to the damage inflicted by the dart-attacks as well as by the Wraith soldiers in the city… it's going to take a while, I'm afraid."

"How long are we talking about until we can start normal operations again?"

"Probably a week? Five days maybe?" If they were lucky.

"And Dr McKay would say what? 24 hours?" She gave him a small smile and he knew she was simply joking a little with reference to the cloaking-discussion Rodney and Radek had had, but somehow he just couldn't bring himself to see it that way. Weariness, worry and the lingering headache had worn on his patience.

"I don't know what Dr McKay would say. To be perfectly honest I'd be interested to hear it, because we could use him right about now. Let me assure you, I'm not playing Mr Scott. If I saw a way to get it done quicker I would do it. But as things stand, I don't."

Elizabeth looked at him, but she anticipated the apology before he could start one. "Sorry, Radek. I know how hard you are all working. And Rodney is down at the flooded areas of the grounding stations. I thought he'd told you."

Actually he had. Well, maybe not personally, but the complaints that had started to hit his head-set about two hours ago, the three requests to be reassigned and one plea for a sharp, pointy object had left no doubts just where his boss was at the moment and in what mood.

"Why don't you take a break, Radek? Get something to eat, a little fresh air."

Just how pathetic did he look right now? Probably as much as he was feeling. He could live with it though, if it meant Elizabeth's hand stayed on his shoulder.

Blushing furiously, Radek gave the expedition's leader a lopsided smile. "Yes, good idea. Yes, yes."

Mumbling unintelligibly and slapping his forehead repeatedly, the engineer left, leaving a puzzled looking Elizabeth Weir behind.

_- Chapter 11 -_

Opting for caffeine first, before going for food, Radek's destination was the sedimentology lab. For some reason, the scientists there tended to brew the strongest coffee in the city. Rumours, coming from the chemistry-department, claimed the reason for this was the geologists' inability to count to ten.

One night though, Dr Myers had casually observed the similarity in colour between hydrochloric acid and moonshine and just how effective the little red and white sign with the dripping test-tube and hand-with-a-hole in-it was in keeping people from looking too closely.

Right about now, he could use a shot of the mysterious liquid, but, for the moment, coffee would have to do.

The closer Radek got to the scientific wing of the city, the harder it was to swim against the tide of scientists suddenly fleeing from the physics, engineering and – he recognised with some surprise – even the biology labs.

He had a sneaking suspicion he knew why people were running from the crime-scene and was quickly proven right; Kavanaugh and McKay yelling at each other was a dead giveaway.

"I specifically said no-one was to touch the labs before I gave the go-ahead. What gives you the right to overrule me, you yellow-faced son of a cockroach?"

"You. Weren't. There. Were you expecting us to just stand around and wait for your highness to finally honour us with your presence? Believe it or not, McKay, we are able to do things without you supervising our every step."

"Oh, I can see that. The experiment you just ruined makes your competence blatantly obvious, and the power surge that knocked out half of the city – TWICE – renews my trust in your pre-school education. Yes, you are absolutely able to screw things up on your own. You don't need me to do that."

"No-one could have foreseen that this would happen. Not even you. We calculated everything. Even Dr Zelenka checked the numbers, seeing as he seems to be the only one worthy of your trust. These things happen and no matter how much you would like to make me your scapegoat – again – it would have happened to you, too."

"See, that's where you're obviously wrong. It wouldn't have. This was YOUR fault." Rodney was quickly working himself up to an early demise via a heart attack from the sound of things, but he would take Kavanaugh down with him.

"And you are free of errors of judgment, Mr Perfection." Radek could virtually hear the glare McKay shot towards his favourite subject for untested chemical substances. "So you knew beforehand that the by-pass on the satellite would end up locking Dr Grodin in. You knew that Dr Beckett would come in here and…"

Watching McKay and Kavanaugh fight was usually the highlight of his day and he liked to just sit back and enjoy the show. But now, things were going down a very steep hill, very fast, with no bottom in sight.

Crossing the remaining distance to the physics lab at a run, Radek arrived just in time to catch McKay around the waist in mid-jump, and probably saved a surprised Kavanaugh from several broken bones.

"See? Just as I said," Kavanaugh sneered at Zelenka. "He knows I'm right, and when he's lacking arguments he has to resort to violence."

"Go." Radek was still struggling to keep Rodney from hitting the chemist, even if the desire to do so himself grew with each passing second.

Kavanaugh obviously didn't catch on his tone of voice. "But not this time, McKay. Not this time! Dr Zelenka witnessed how you tried to attack me. I'm filing a complai…"

"GO!" Radek felt the pressure on his forearm increase as the fight vanished from McKay's sagging frame. Wanting nothing more than to physically kick Kavanaugh out of the lab, he glared at the taller man. "GO, NOW, before I forget myself!"

Kavanaugh's eyes widened to saucers in shock, but Radek shot him a look that dared the scientist to defy him. Without another word the man stormed from the room, cursing loudly only when he was out of sight. Radek had no problems ignoring him and focussed on Rodney, only releasing his hold on his friend once he was sure he would be able to stand without falling.

"Don't listen to him. He is just brainless červ. Doesn't know what he's talking about at best of times. Rodney?" Radek knew his tone was almost pleading by now, but Rodney kept looking on the floor; flinched away from further touch. He seemed so lost, so broken. And Radek felt overwhelmed with the situation; this was way out of his league. "Why don't we have a look how Carson is doing, yes?" He was clutching at straws.

"No." A simple word, uttered softly, but left no room for arguments.

The engineer attempted to stop McKay. Blocked his way when Rodney walked towards the door, talked to him when he was shoved aside. But all words were ignored, so in the end he had no choice but to let McKay go.


	7. Chapter 12

_- Chapter 12 -_

Waves rolled softly over the pebble-covered beach, bursting into millions of tiny bubbles on impact, colouring the very edge of the shore a brilliant white. Molecules of air and water fused together before disappearing into a fine mist. Rocks, smoothed by water and time, collided with each other; constant movement rearranging transient order and appearance.

The breaking water curled cool fluid over his bare feet, filled the space between his toes, tickled sensitive spots on his heels. He wanted to scratch the itch, but it wasn't important.

A soft wind was blowing. He could feel its smooth tendrils licking over his face. It should have been a familiar feeling, but it wasn't.

He walked along the waterside, his footsteps destroying arrangements of pebbles, pressing them deeper into the ground. Water, filling the depression, made the shore lose a fight in the endless battle between solid matter and fluid.

The coast continued infinitely to all sides of him. There was nothing besides the dark vastness of the ocean on one side and a wasteland covered to the horizon with rounded rocks on the other, their moist surfaces glistening silvery in the faint sunlight.

The sensations crashing into him were stunning. His skin was supersensitive, he could feel each tiny drop of moisture hitting his hand as if he was scooping up a handful of water. He could smell the dusty aroma of rocks exposed to sun and the sweet odour of stale water. The bitter taste of drying salt burned on his tongue, making him thirsty. Feelings were permeating his entire being.

Yet there was something missing, and he didn't know what it was.

He crouched down and picked up one of the perfectly rounded stones. They were all the same. Same size, same colour, same shape, same weight, with not a hint of moss or other vegetation on them. They were perfect.

Losing interest, he let it drop back onto the ground; watched it bounce, felt the slight vibrations of the impact on the soles of his feet, and saw it settle down, once more forming a perfect alliance with its siblings.

Sound.

It was missing. He'd seen it, felt it, smelled it, even tasted it, but he hadn't heard it. Hadn't heard the wind blow, hadn't heard the waves breaking at his feet and hadn't heard the small rock drop to the ground.

Suddenly the vastness around him was suffocating. The wide space consumed all oxygen until nothing was left for him anymore. He felt himself shrink, become a tiny atom in a universe filled with mute sensations.

He cowered on the ground, buried his face between his knees and wrapped both arms protectively over his head. Now, he could only see the faint outline of his trouser legs, smell only the familiar scent of his own body and he could pretend he didn't hear anything simply because his sleeves were muffling any sound.

He could breathe again.

Something changed, but he was too scared to leave his shelter, so he stayed motionless.

The wind stopped blowing through his hair and along his exposed fingers and toes. A rougher, solid material replaced the breeze from before. He could still smell his own skin, but a sharper, artificial smell accompanied it now. Still too scared to lift his head from his knees, he slowly became aware that there was something else. His ears were picking something up.

A sound.

Like a drowning man struggling through water to draw in life-giving air, Carson followed the sound, chased it, hoping so desperately to quench his thirst; for all five senses to come back to him.

When he suddenly broke through the heavy blanket of silence the sound was almost deafening in its intensity, but he welcomed it all, embraced it with the relieved awareness that it had all been a bad dream.

But not all had just been a bad dream.

Forcing his eyes open, he could see the infirmary around him, smell the disinfectant, hear the buzzing of equipment and see people moving about beyond the surrounding curtain.

A tiny spotlight created by a single ray of the planet's sun settled near his forehead on the pillow and Carson moved his head a little, so he could see it better. Drugs were flowing heavily through his veins, making him feel oddly calm and in control. There wasn't any pain, just…numbness. A heavy, muggy numbness.

The little yellow dot had a mesmerising effect and he spent several minutes just looking at it, marvelling at the spectrum of colours created by the prism-effect of the window. He wondered about the innocence such a small thing possessed after having travelled through the destructive environment of vacuum.

It felt good to have some company.

He must have dozed off for a while for when he opened his eyes the tiny dot had moved on the pillow. It wasn't the friendly little companion from before any more; the one that kept his thoughts from drifting in directions he couldn't let them drift in at the moment. It had moved and settled on his eyes now, making everything around him too bright, so that he couldn't see. Even moving his head didn't bring a real respite, since the light would stop burning his retinas, but, no matter what he did, he couldn't get it off his face.

It had lost its innocence. It branded him, marked him a target, left him vulnerable and exposed.

Looking around, he hoped someone would be there who could help him. He knew he was still half-caught in the remnants of a drug-induced sleep, and needed something to pull him out into reality again.

He wanted to move; to slide down the bed or curl up on his side, but, apart from his head, Carson stayed stock-still. He could live with the bright mark on his face, but he couldn't live with the knowledge of not being able to move. So he chose to stay still out of his own free will, because this left him in control. He could move if he wanted to, he just _chose_ not to, just like in his dream.

And no-one was there to tell him otherwise.

oOo

Taking three steps at a time and the last five in one big jump, John Sheppard hurried down the broad stairs. Addressing no-one in particular, he shouted at a group of men, dressed in Atlantis' black military uniforms, who were standing near the deactivated Stargate.

"The Daedalus is sending down the last of their cargo for us. I want it checked and delivered to the appropriate sections yesterday. Then I want a full inventory of the armoury. I want to know how we stand."

"Yes, Sir." Stressing the 'Sir', the highest ranking amongst the men was quick to respond, and, as the major passed, they all stood to attention.

With the exception of Bates, his people had begun to lose the stiff military behaviour towards him over the course of the past year. John had always encouraged this, since he hated it and wasn't exactly known as a model-soldier himself, here nor in the Milky Way.

For some reason though, today it was back full-force, and it pissed him off. He had yet to figure out whether it had anything to do with the new batch from the Daedalus, her tight-ass Captain or something else.

All he knew was that wherever he went, people were giving him wide-eyed looks that would put every Japanese Animé to shame, and he had the distinct impression people were going to great lengths to try and avoid him.

The last night had been short and full of nightmares about the Wraith. Earth had exploded at least twice and at one point his Jumper had blown up, but inside the Daedalus instead of one of the Hive ships. And when McKay's frantic call about Carson had woken him up in the morning, he had just been playing a game of poker with Rodney, Beckett, Ford and Elizabeth, all of them aged almost beyond recognition, their skin outlining fragile bones, eyes missing in dark, empty sockets.

This day had started out bad and was only getting worse with each passing hour.

A quick look at his watch told him that it was rapidly approaching dinner time already. He hadn't noticed how fast time had gone by. After leaving the infirmary, John had busied himself with work. He had been running around, checking on the progress of the repairs, the delivery of supplies, and designating work to the Daedalus crew that had come to help out, only to check their work minutes later.

Some of what he did might have been trespassing on Elizabeth's territory, but she had a huge workload as it was, and, since he was already there, he might as well do it. Elizabeth wasn't exactly grateful and had more than once asked whether he didn't need to do some paperwork, _somewhere else_. But there was no way he could sit down and concentrate on a piece of paper. He had to move around, do stuff.

Sitting meant thinking, thinking meant getting mad at Beckett for lying in the infirmary and getting madder at McKay for making things worse than they already were. Getting madder meant losing the battle to take a Jumper, fly to the next Wraith ship he could find and kick their asses all over again for daring to attack his home and his friends.

Since there hadn't been any more live Wraith around for a day now, kicking walls and boxes was the natural next choice. And no, he hadn't meant to make Dr Kusanagi cry because she thought he had destroyed her new microscope. It had been an accident, and, if he'd known the damn thing weighed about a ton, he wouldn't have tried shoving it down the corridor with his foot.

When one of the scientists working in the control room politely asked John whether he had a degree in engineering, if not, then he would just have to take her word that she'd be able to do it without him, thank you very much, John finally went to look for Teyla.

A sparring match might be able to release some of the tension that was making his muscles quiver with pent-up energy.

Deciding that walking around to look for the Athosian would already give him some sort of workout, he didn't bother calling her over the radio. And, soon enough, he could hear her voice coming from within a group of people standing near the Jumper-bay.

"No, Madra, take only what you and your son need for the next few days. Everything else will be brought to you later, after all of our people are back in the settlement."

"Teyla, Teyla, Teyla. Teylaaaaaa!" The shrill chanting of a little girl drowned out the woman's reply to Teyla and John had to fight the urge to stick a finger into his ears to protect his eardrums.

Without even being able to see his team-mate, he could hear the small sigh she always gave when faced with a situation that put her patience to the test. Usually he heard it whenever she broke up another one of his arguments with Rodney.

"Yes, Buthi", Teyla addressed the girl.

"I drew a picture! Just for you! You have to come and take a look. You must come with me! Come, Come! Pleeeeaaase!"

Even from a distance of at least five metres, the girl's loud, whiny voice was hurting his ears, and Teyla wasn't fairing any better. The two people right in front of him had left, so Sheppard could see her now.

"I am sorry, Buthi. I do not have time right now. But I promise I will look at it when we are back in the village." Unceremoniously untangling the small fist from her trousers, Teyla gave the girl a gentle but resolute shove towards another woman and got out of the small circle of Athosians. "Halling, please make sure everyone knows only to pack the bare necessities for the moment, and that the first group will leave with first light tomorrow." Teyla walked backwards while she spoke with the tall man, trying to get away from the mob of people and John caught her arm before she walked right into him.

Whirling around when she felt his touch, she looked surprised to see him. "I am sorry, Major. I did not see you."

"Yeah, I didn't want to interrupt. Everything going okay?"

"It is…" he had a feeling Teyla was trying to avoid the use of some of the more colourful words she had learned since joining his team. Obviously deciding against their use, she finished diplomatically, "…Many things have to be done before we can get everyone safely back to the Mainland.".

"I bet. Listen, Teyla. You don't by any chance have some time for a little sparring? Might be a good diversion." He sounded desperate, but he was, so he didn't care.

"I wish that were possible, Major, but I need to help my people." She sounded sincerely regretful.

"Okay. Some other time then." On some level, seeing Teyla struggling with the attention of so many people had improved his mood slightly. After all, a problem shared is a problem halved, but her turning him down, had dropped it back to arctic levels. And her next comment didn't make it any better.

"Yes, that would be nice. I heard Dr Beckett is doing a little better. When you get back to the infirmary please tell him I am very sorry for not having had the time to visit since he awoke. And that I will see him as soon as possible."

"Teyla."

"Teyla."

The shouts coming from both sides of the hallway made her turn around, confused as to who to answer first. Grimacing slightly the Athosian leader apologized to John with a soft "Sorry" then left him to meet the approaching men.

Now, standing surrounded by a bunch of hectically moving people, he felt even more like he had nothing of real importance to do while everyone else was working overtime. And, not believing it possible, he found that his bad mood had got worse.

"Major?" The female voice coming from the small microphone in his ear said so much more than just his rank.

Not again. Paperwork just wasn't his first priority now, couldn't she see that? But, judging from Elizabeth's tone of voice, she wasn't in the best of moods either so John tried not to push his luck too far.

"Elizabeth." Oh no, he'd forgotten about the damn meeting. He _so_ didn't want to face McKay and Caldwell right now. And Elizabeth wasn't his favourite person at the moment either; in fact right now, no-one really was.

"The meeting?" The normally eloquent leader was getting mono-syllabic, which was fine with him since he didn't really feel chatty himself. Suppressing any snide comment or impatient sighs, the major turned around and kicked his way back to Elizabeth's office.

oOo

_So long, Rodney._

Everything screamed at him to leave, to find the darkest, smallest place in the city and hide forever. But after running aimlessly through empty corridors for almost two hours he was suddenly standing in front of Peter's apartment, breathing hard, with legs that just wouldn't move anymore. With arms wrapped protectively around himself, he bit on dry lips, until blood stained them bright red, and reached out with a shaking hand to open the door.

The small room behind it was almost dark already, the setting sun casting long shadows over millennia-old furniture. Rodney had never been in this room before, had only seen parts of it from outside and even that only a couple of times. So he hesitated before entering, one hand kept right on the door frame as if he was keeping an elevator from closing.

_It's the only option and you know it._

Swallowing hard, he silently asked Peter for permission before he finally walked into the apartment, the doors closing quietly behind him. Stale air made him draw in deeper breaths to compensate for the lack of oxygen, but, apart from this, nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

It was a nice room. Sparsely decorated, just like everyone's, with only the few personal belongings that they had been able to bring with them to the Pegasus Galaxy. Still, Peter had somehow managed to give it a personal touch.

Several family pictures had been stuck haphazardly to the walls, their edges already slightly bent without the support of frames around them. Some of them had a rumpled appearance as if they had been handled quite a lot.

A big map filled with familiar star-constellations of their own home-galaxy hung over the main desk, some stars were crossed out, others had a big yellow circle around them, and, on the right, a fat, hand-drawn arrow pointed to whatever lay behind the edge of the poster.

The bed, surprisingly, was unmade. He'd thought Peter the kind of perfectionist who only left his quarters in pristine condition. Several sheets were coiled up in a big ball of fabric, with a pillow lying next to the bed on the floor together with T-shirt and boxers.

It was a mess. But a very personal one.

One that spoke of late nights and early mornings; one that said life outside was more important than time spent alone in here.

Rodney walked dazedly over the carpet-covered floor towards the big window just left of the bed and opened it; The warm evening breeze filling the room with the familiar smell of sea-water.

_Leave me. _

"Peter! Shut up. Please!" The constant little voice in the back of his head just wouldn't stop whispering.

A sudden breeze went through the room and some of the pictures began to flutter, the soft clapping sounds startling him. A wrinkled piece of paper fell from the nightstand and got tangled between T-shirt and pillow. Rodney picked it up. It was a To Do List.

_It's the only option._

The page was almost full, half of the items already messily crossed out. Some were work-related, others reminded Peter to do his laundry, or to clean. Quite simple things. Rodney was maintaining such a list, too - on his computer; what was done was erased from the file. But in this case, the list was handwritten and not everything had been crossed out.

Rodney almost choked when he read through the handful of everyday things on the bottom of the list that Peter still wanted to take care of, but would no longer get the chance to. Beckett had a computerised list too. Rodney had shown him how to operate the programme, after he found the doctor screaming bloody murder at his laptop when he couldn't get it to work.

Maybe Carson, too, wouldn't be able to do the things on his list anymore. And Sheppard and Kavanaugh were right: it would be because of him, Rodney McKay.

_Rodney. Leave me. _

"Not real, not real," he breathed, wincing, when his forehead pounded more fiercely. The tenuous control he had on his emotions was slipping.

_come back for you after it's done._

"Shut up! We won't come back, okay! Because there is nowhere to go back to!" He screamed at the empty room, breaths coming in increasingly quicker spurts. The shaking in his limbs became more and more pronounced until his knees could no longer support him and he slowly slid down the glass wall underneath the window.

The human body was only designed to withstand so much and Rodney McKay's slowly started to succumb to the effects of weeks of stress and gruelling exhaustion, combined with guilt and a lack of food. Panic was overwhelming him; pictures of exploding satellites and Jumpers and Carson's bloody body lying in front of his door, assaulting his mind.

Folding in on himself, Rodney sank his head onto his knees, hands covering his ears as hard as he could to block out any sound.

_After it's done, then._

"I'm sorry."

Rocking back and forth he gave in to the panic attack; welcomed it. He let it take him somewhere else where there was only darkness and no feelings.

_After it's done. _

"I'm so sorry."

_So long, Rodney._

* * *

A/N Thanks so much for all the wonderful feedback!


	8. Chapter 13

_- Chapter 13 -_

With a slight swoosh, the door to Grodin's room opened and Dr Kusanagi shyly went inside. Peter had been a friend, one of the few who had taken the time to get to know her a little better. She was on her way back to the lab, after one of the kitchen staff had helped her glue the broken foot of her microscope. And when she passed this section she just wanted to have a moment for herself and her memories. Life outside right now was too hectic and still too frightening for her.

It was already dark outside, so, using her gene, she switched on the lighting in the room, only to stumble back in shocked surprise when she found she wasn't alone.

Besides a tuft of brown hair there wasn't much to see of the huddled up frame, but Miko knew Rodney McKay well enough to recognise him.

Startled to have interrupted whatever he was doing, she instantly backed off. "I.. I'm sorry, Dr McKay. Didn't want to… I will go…Really sorry for disturbing you!" He didn't move or yell at her, for which she was glad, so she quickly turned around and left him in peace.

oOo

"Major."

Caldwell's greeting, when Sheppard came into Elizabeth's office, spoke of decades of military training. Stiff, but not outright unfriendly, with a touch of arrogance. Emotions completely unreadable behind a neutral face. John knew these types and approached the Colonel with some caution. He didn't quite trust him.

"Colonel." He politely, but guardedly, nodded at the other man.

"I must say, now that I had time to look around, it's quite an impressive city you have here." Caldwell fell into a seat near Elizabeth's desk and leaned back casually.

John had spent the better part of the past year on top of the military food chain. Being suddenly confronted with superiors left him nervous and a little unsure of himself. During the siege he had acted on autopilot. Now that things had quieted down he found himself thinking too much and hated himself for his own insecurity.

"You have yet to really see it, Colonel." Elizabeth came into her office, her voice held pride, but also sounded tired, and harder than usual. Sitting down in her office chair, she motioned John to sit also, and he took the opposite chair, leaning back with the same casualness, right foot resting on the left knee. This was his city after all - well, his and Elizabeth's - his territory. And he planned to show as much.

"I've just been down to the infirmary. Dr Beckett is holding his own, the fever has come down a bit. He's been awake a couple of times and is asking for you and Dr McKay, Major. It would probably be good, if you could spare a minute and pay him a visit." She might not have been military, but the order, wrapped in a friendly request, was so obvious, he was tempted to answer with a shouted "Sir, yes, Sir".

She knew damn well he'd been avoiding this part of the city like the plague. But he was relieved to hear Carson was doing better. John wasn't sure why he was so angry at Elizabeth. It was like everything she did or said was aggravating him, and everything he said or did was obviously pissing her off. It was probably just stress that needed some kind of valve. And right now, hell, if it didn't feel good to fight with someone, even subtly. As long as it wasn't Rodney. Him, he could not face right now.

"I assumed Dr McKay would be joining us?" Caldwell spoke up, clearly surprised about the tension in the room.

"He was supposed to. Major?"

"What?" No, he didn't know where their resident genius was. As long as it wasn't here, it was fine with him. People had kept asking him where Rodney was the entire day. But he wasn't McKay's watchdog and if the guy wasn't able to check his timetable, it wasn't his problem.

"Dr McKay?"

John settled for a shrug that had Elizabeth shooting daggers at him.

"Since no-one has been able to call him on the radio, it would probably be best if you could go down and remind him of the meeting, Major? This concerns the future of the entire city and I want both of you here." Again, not a request. "I suggest we better postpone this until we're all here."

Sheppard gave her a sour look for ordering him to baby-sit tardy scientists, but got up to find McKay. He would drag him back here by his nose-hair if necessary, if that meant getting this meeting over and done with. Then he could grab some dinner, go to bed, and forget this day ever happened.

"Major, a word." Caldwell had followed him out of the glass-encircled office.

"Sir." What did _he_ want now?

"Is everything alright between you and Dr Weir?"

"Yes, Sir. No problems." Just a bunch of crappy days and raw nerves. None of which were any of Caldwell's business.

"I just wanted to say, that was good work the last couple of days. I'm sure the Air Force will appreciate your efforts."

What the hell was that supposed to mean?

Between gritted teeth, Sheppard forced out a "thank you, Sir", then watched the Colonel head back to join Dr Weir.

He had a bad feeling about this. Now that they had established regular contact to Earth and a means of transportation, someone else, someone higher ranking, was most likely going to take military control. He'd been anticipating this situation ever since he got this job. Where would that leave him? Here? As second in command like originally planned? Or would he be sent back to Earth?

This day just wasn't getting any better.

oOo

"Where is he?" He took some perverse pleasure when Dr Zelenka, shocked at his sudden appearance, lost the grip on his glasses he'd been holding and watched them sail high through the air.

"Oh, uh, what? Who?" Radek looked like the proverbial deer caught in the headlight.

Sheppard caught the spectacles in mid-flight and handed them back. "McKay, Doc. You know, short guy, not much hair, pretty full of himself." He didn't try to hide the annoyance in his voice.

"I don't know, Major. Been looking for him myself for some time now." Setting his glasses high on his nose, the engineer fixed Sheppard with a sharp glare. "Is something wrong?"

"Nothing, except he's nowhere to be found, ignores his calls, doesn't help with the repairs and is missing his meetings."

"We've had a couple of pretty hard days. He's entitled to a little down-time, is he not?" John felt like Radek was trying to protect McKay from something, and he had the sneaking suspicion is was from him.

"Right now, he's supposed to let us know where the hell he is, what he's doing and why he isn't at work." The heated discussion threatened to turn into a full blown argument.

"Why? He has been 'at work' constantly, without a break, for days now. Unlike other people."

Sheppard saw Radek cringe with his last comment, but chose to ignore it. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

The scientist held up both his hands in an apologetic manner. "Sorry. That's not what I meant, Major. Honestly. It's just… I'm worried about Rodney. I've been looking for hours and just can't find him. He was pretty upset the last time I saw him."

"What's going on, Radek?" John felt the urge to strangle the astrophysicist fade somewhat. It was replaced with a sick feeling in his stomach.

"He's taken everything that happened to heart, Major. The last days were hard on him. Then what happened to Dr Beckett. And now the argument with Dr Kavanaugh…"

"What did _he_ do?"

"He pretty much accused Dr McKay of deliberately leaving Peter behind in the satellite." Radek's voice was full of disdain.

"He didn't? The son of a…"

"Uhm, excuse me? Major Sheppard? Dr Zelenka?"

John swallowed the two dozen curses on the tip of his tongue, when Dr Kusanagi spoke up, her voice, as usual, barely more than a whisper. "I did not want to intrude, but you are looking for Dr McKay, yes?"

She looked ready to run away, but Radek quickly crossed the distance and touched her shoulder encouragingly. "Yes, Miko, we are. Do you know where he is?"

"I really did not want to disturb him, and please tell him, I'm really, really sorry, if I did."

"That's okay, Doctor. I'm sure, you didn't." Sheppard toned his voice down, and felt Radek's stance towards him relax minutely. "So when and where did you see him?"

"In Dr Grodin's quarters. But is has been a couple of hours, maybe he isn't there any more."

"Thank you, Miko. You helped us out a lot." Zelenka sounded as if he were talking to a child, but she seemed to brighten up at his words; even blushed a little behind her large glasses, before quickly retreating into a nearby lab.

Sheppard called after her "Sorry, about the… uh…" but the woman had already disappeared, and he quickly headed towards the main living quarters.

oOo

John was already half-way down the corridor, before Radek caught up and tried to match his stride. Thoughts and emotions were running haywire through his brain and the sick feeling in his stomach had only gotten worse since talking to Kusanagi.

"He's fine, right?" The engineer was already breathing hard, even though they weren't running, just… walking fast.

"I'm sure he is", Sheppard answered without much conviction and sped up a little more.

The rest of the journey was done in silence. Radek, because he didn't have any more breath to spare, and John, because visions of Rodney lying face-down in the water or smashed on one of the lower balconies forced their ugly faces into his mind.

Finally arriving in the appropriate section, he barked, "Which one?"

Zelenka pointed to a door on the left. "This is Peter's."

Not bothering to knock or activate the sensors, Sheppard used his gene to open the door and instantly breathed a sigh of relief. Rodney was there. Quietly sitting near the bed.

It was pitch dark in there, but the lights from the corridor were just bright enough to illuminate the huddled form.

"McKay?" He had to squint his eyes when he switched the lights on, and was a bit surprised that Rodney showed no reaction at all to the brightness. The man was sitting with his arms around his legs, fingers loosely entwined, face pressed onto bent knees.

"Rodney? You alright?" Not wanting to startle the scientist from his obvious doze, he approached him slowly. Radek looked worried, but gave him room and waited behind him in the doorway.

When the major finally reached the physicist, he crouched down next to him, then gave the nearest shoulder a slight shake.

And was totally unprepared when Rodney suddenly slipped from his touch, simply falling over onto his other side, his head connecting with the carpet with a soft thud, limbs opening up like a puppet with its strings cut.

"Oh, shit." Quickly climbing over the unmoving form, Sheppard started checking for injuries.

"Major, what…?"

"Get someone!" Hoping Radek was smart enough to do as asked, John felt for a pulse. He found it beating, but weak and rapid under cold skin that was slick with sweat. Carefully taking Rodney's face in both of his hands, he turned it to face him, then gave the pale cheeks a few soft taps.

"Come on, Rodney, wake up", he urged, but no reaction was forthcoming.

Radek suddenly appeared next to him. "I called for help. They should be here soon."

Sheppard checked McKay's pulse once more. He hadn't found any bleeding gashes or other things that would have told him why the man was unconscious, but the unnatural stillness frightened him more than anything and he had to do something.

"Not good enough", he decided.

As gently as he could, he manoeuvred one arm underneath Rodney's shoulders and wrestled the other one under the still bent knees. Zelenka helped support McKay's rolling head when he got up, then laid it gently on John's shoulder, and steadied him until he had his legs back under him.

"What's wrong with him?" John could hear the fear in the other man's voice.

"Don't know. – Damn, you're heavy." Groaning, when the dead weight of Rodney's body in his arms pulled painfully on his joints, he was finally upright. "But I intend to find out."

Shifting the weight a little, to hold his burden more secure, he tried to ignore that one arm had become loose and dangled freely in the air. The lump in Sheppard's throat grew heavier and fouler in taste, when Rodney still didn't move. At least he could feel the small puffs of air against the skin of his neck whenever the physicist breathed. And all he could do on the way to the infirmary was count them and pray they wouldn't stop.


	9. Chapter 14

_- Chapter 14 -_

When Carson opened his eyes again, night time had already come. His own light by the bed was on, but had been dimmed to a comfortable glow. The rest of the infirmary was still brightly lit, and, though conversations were kept low, the noise level and the number of people told him it couldn't be late.

Carefully, he ran a hand over his aching stomach, settling it on the blanket right on top of the thick bandages underneath. He felt hot and uncomfortable, his arms and back were itching from lying in one position for too long. The stitches seemed to pull with every little movement, even keeping his breathing shallow only helped so much.

The pain had woken him prematurely from a much needed rest and all Carson wanted was to close his eyes and disappear into the mattress, but the pounding ache coming from all over his body wouldn't let him, and he knew it.

Still, he felt guilty adding to the workload of his already overworked staff.

Hoping it was already time for his next shot, Carson lifted his right hand slowly to press the little call-button next to his head, watching in rapt fascination when the IV- and pulse-lines trailed sluggishly behind, like snakes caught on a cold autumn night. The brief movement was already exhausting him and he dozed off, arm still bent backwards, chin coming to rest on the heel of his hand.

"You're awake." Biro's observation startled him back to reality.

"I am", Carson rasped, his voice rough from lack of use.

With a gentleness no-one would expect from the small but energetic doctor, she untangled his arm, watchful of lines, clips and fingers, and laid it back down onto the bed, checking his pulse manually while she was doing it.

"Lucid, even! Are you going to stay that way for a couple of minutes?"

"Not if I can help it." His brows were furrowed and he groaned, shifting his upper body to escape the pain that seemed to be coming from his back now. The woman by his side stopped his movement by putting her right hand onto his side, trapping him where he was with pitifully little effort.

"I know you're in pain, Carson, but try to stay still." She accepted a syringe from a nurse, whose presence he hadn't even noticed so far, and pressed a little of the honey-coloured liquid into his IV.

Watching her movements carefully, Carson's next attempt for a shallow breath turned into a breathless, desperate laugh. "Thank you for thinking…that highly…of my…bravery, but I… don't think that'll be quite…enough,…lass!"

"Shhhh, Carson, it's okay. It'll take the edge off, just give it a moment." Reaching behind him, she produced an oxygen mask and pressed it over his mouth and nose. "Try to breathe normally. Slow and steady."

And true to her word after a couple of minutes of trying to concentrate on getting his breathing back under control, the ache in his stomach subsided a little to a more manageable level. He allowed himself to relax slightly and opened his tightly closed eyes again.

"Better?" Carol Biro hung the mask back over the hook on the wall before she focussed on her charge, putting a hand on his forehead to check his temperature in a very old-fashioned way.

Carson just nodded, afraid anything more might cancel the momentary respite.

"I will give you more, so you can sleep, in a minute", Carol continued, "but first, I'd like to talk to you a bit if you feel up to it. Alright?"

"Uhmm." She hadn't given him much of the pain-meds, but he could already feel the lethargy that came with them; everything seemed to be moving a notch slower than before.

"You've never been awake for long, so do you remember what happened?"

Pictures of Rodney's lab and snap-shots of the times when he had woken up flashed in his mind; a feeling of intense loneliness accompanied it all. Clearest and loudest of all though, was Sheppard's voice, telling him he'd never walk again.

Yes, he remembered.

"Aye." He was fighting with his emotions; he tried to keep them in check by staring at the grey-white of the partially drawn curtain; anywhere but at people. "At least… some", he finally conceded, needing her to fill in the blanks, which he so desperately wanted to stay in the dark. The heat he was feeling now wasn't only due to his still high fever.

"You were shot some time last night." Carol wasn't one for obfuscating or glossing things over. One of many traits she had in common with Rodney McKay, even though he'd never tell either person that.

"Dr McKay found you in the morning and we rushed you into surgery. You've lost a lot of blood, but we managed to bring your pressure up to a reasonable level again. No major arteries or organs were hit, or you'd be dead now; so remember to burn a candle or drink a toast to your lucky stars. Still", she grew deathly serious again, "the bullet did some damage."

"Can't move my legs." There. He'd said it. And the big, black cloud over his head seemed to finally swallow him.

Dr Biro looked at him briefly and nodded. There was no pity in her face, only her usual professional expression. "The projectile logged itself near your lower spine, and the reflexes in your upper body seem to be mostly unaffected. So much for the good part. It caused, however, partial paralysis of your lower extremities. We don't know the extent or the kind of damage yet, but, Carson, your legs _are_ responding to some stimuli."

Carson was flying reasonably high on medication, but her emphasis on the last comment wasn't lost on him. Some stimuli. Only some, but there.

She must have read the glimmer of hope in his face and walked down to the end of the bed where she uncovered his feet. Running a tongue depressor along his left foot, both watched the limb react a little. Too slow and in an uncoordinated fashion, but there was definitely movement.

"It's still in there, Carson. The bullet, I mean." She covered his legs again and joined him at the head of the bed. "I had to stop surgery, before I could get it out, because your condition became just too unstable. Robinson thinks its position alone could result in the impairment you're experiencing and once we get it out and the swelling had a chance to go down around your spine you should be able to get movement back."

Carson knew this was probably one of the most important discussions in his life, but the pain was coming back and the dulling fog in his head was starting to clear up. He started to not care. He simply wanted her to make the decisions for him, fix things, make everything good again and most importantly drown him in a sea of potent pain-killers. But there was one thing his subconscious told him was important to know:

"You don't agree?" He got out, fingers once more starting to roll into a fist.

The woman noticed his distress. "There are too many ifs, and I don't want to get your hopes up. Chances are high that there is at least some damage to soft tissue, bone or both. We just don't know. You know yourself how tricky this can be. After some discussions we all agree that we're going to get the projectile out, as soon as your condition is stable enough and you've had some rest. We'll deal with whatever outcome once we've crossed that particular bridge."

He knew her tone. Carol was a pragmatist if he'd ever seen one. She hated to guess and she hated to sugar-coat. Carol Biro was an excellent surgeon and pathologist, but Carson hoped, should she ever go back to earth, she wouldn't go for private surgery; bedside manners weren't her forte.

He felt her take his forearm to untangle the lines leading to and into it. "Sleep now. You can ask questions and try to interfere in your own treatment later." With well rehearsed movements, she refilled the syringe, with Carson watching her every movement through half-lidded eyes.

She was about to inject the sedative into his IV-port, when urgent voices drifted in from outside the infirmary and got louder when the main doors opened. It was enough to draw Carson back from his stupor and he caught Biro's hand with one of his, his eyes showing the pain he was in, but also that he had to know what was going on first.

For a second the small doctor seemed to want to fight him, but, to his surprise, she relented. "Two minutes", she said, looking sternly at both Carson and the nearby nurse, then gave the needle back to the other woman and parted the curtains to rush outside.

Carson only had a couple of seconds before the curtains stopped moving to block his view once more, but it was enough to see John Sheppard coming stumbling and sweating from the direction of the front doors. He was carrying an unconscious Rodney McKay in his arms and seemed ready to drop his heavy burden, but the quick reaction from a nearby medic saved the physicist from tumbling completely out of Sheppard's grip.

The major was still fighting to get his breath back, hunched over slightly with both hands resting on his knees, but was, Carson assumed, already briefing the medical personnel around him about what happened to McKay. Unfortunately for Beckett, the general commotion drowned out whatever was being said and the physicist had quickly been placed on a bed and was out of sight.

What was wrong with Rodney? Had he missed something last time he'd checked on the man? The doctor and the friend in him had to know what was going on; needed to know that Rodney was alright, he really hadn't looked good.

The monitors next to Carson's bed recognised his growing frustration with not being able to help and started to whine. Someone needed to get this curtain out of his way, he couldn't see anything. And it kept air from getting inside, too; he already had problems providing his heaving lungs with enough oxygen. Damn them. He needed to get out there. Now.

He only vaguely noticed when someone finally pulled the curtain aside. By the time the person had emptied the syringe into his blood stream, unconsciousness had already claimed him.

oOo

Rodney was sleeping, buried beneath several thick blankets. His breathing slow and even. If it hadn't been for the pallor of his skin and the dark circles under his sunken eyes, he would have looked peaceful.

John adjusted his position next to the bed for the third time in as many hours. Every time one of his limbs had gone to sleep from lying awkwardly on something hard, it forced him to move. This time it was his right arm that was now itching annoyingly. He had been resting it on the small nightstand next to the bed with his chin sitting on top of it.

Rodney hadn't moved at all during all that time.

After he'd brought McKay in, the hectic activity around the physicist had scared John; scared him into thinking that something was seriously wrong. But soon enough, people had calmed down and Biro had quietly told him something about a delayed shock-reaction, which obviously wasn't uncommon, and considering the circumstances…

But shock, for heaven's sake. Shock for John Sheppard was something that accompanied a severe physical or psychological trauma. The Wraith had left days ago, the danger had long been over. He'd already talked to Rodney, had had dinner with him. Things had been fine. Why hadn't he seen it coming?

They had told him Rodney was just sleeping now, just as Carson was. He had been placed next to Beckett, with John now sitting between the two beds. He wouldn't leave. Not again. And it didn't have anything to do with the chewing-out by one very angry Dr Biro.

She'd told him in no uncertain terms what she thought about his lack of appearance during the day and the amount of time it had taken him to get McKay down here after her earlier orders.

And didn't he feel guilty about that?

Finding his friend like that; alone in the dark, fighting demons he wasn't supposed to even have, needing someone… He'd messed up on so many levels, he couldn't even count floors anymore.

"He okay?"

In his surprise at hearing the soft voice, John almost knocked over the water pitcher near his elbow. Seeing Carson tiredly look up at him, he turned around once more to watch the physicist breathe for a few seconds. Two IVs were leading into the blanket-bundled form, but otherwise he was machine-free, much to the major's relief. Having one of his friends dependent on so many beeping and squiggling boxes was disturbing enough.

Facing Carson again, he nodded. "Biro says yes. Something about delayed shock?" He was putting the diagnosis into a question, hoping Carson would vehemently disagree that this really was the case. But he was disappointed.

"Oh." The doctor was clearly concerned. "Was 'ard on him. Awful days." A sad smile appeared on the haggard face.

The major couldn't agree more. "For all of us."

"How are you, Major? You alright?" Beckett's worried voice broke the thoughtful silence.

"Me? Why? I'm fine." What was it with Carson that he always worried more about everyone else? Hell, the man looked ready to fall apart, his skin whiter than Rodney's, with eyes glazed over, pupils dilated alarmingly with all the drugs they kept pumping into him. And John didn't miss the hand, fisted into the blanket by his side. That sight made him think of something. "You need anything? Should I get a doctor?"

"You're a very bad liar, Major. And no."

"Huh?" He didn't like where this was going. "I wasn't shot or passed out, Carson."

"No. You're just still alive… and there …to pick up the pieces." Beckett looked at him, eyes dark and full of compassion.

It made John uncomfortable. What was he supposed to say? "I, uh…"

"You feel responsible." Carson seemed determined to have this discussion now, even though his voice started to die down to a faint whisper.

"I _am_ responsible." The major leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, and met Carson's eyes straight-on. That was a fact and he didn't want Beckett, or anyone else, to ever question that.

"Yes. But even responsibility only runs so far." Carson was tiring fast, and John would have been glad to cut this conversation short, but the doctor wouldn't have it. "I've seen you, John. Know what you did. Don't be so…" he groaned slightly in pain, and instinctively, the major laid a concerned hand on his forearm. "…so bloody hard on yourself. Things happen, Major, people DIE. And we both have to live with it."

The doctor's eyes shimmered wetly with the last outburst and the major understood the emotions behind Carson's words. It just wasn't quite so easy.

"Be glad you're alive, John." Beckett's voice was very soft now, no more than a whisper and it was difficult to understand. "The people here certainly are. Be responsible … for the living. Can't help … the dead..."

Carson's eyes were still open, but downcast, fixed on a place far beyond the walls of the infirmary. His hands had finally stopped moving and seemed more relaxed.

Watching his friend's breathing even out, John wondered about the very one sided discussion he'd just had. Was he so easy to read? Usually people accused him of keeping his thoughts and emotions hidden behind a casual, sarcastic or charming façade; more than one of his relationships had broken up because of that. Or maybe he'd just witnessed the easy-going, soft-tempered Carson Beckett reveal something he'd never openly admit to without the help of pain and drugs.

Beckett probably hadn't meant his last statement as an accusation, but John Sheppard took it this way. It stung, but rightly so, in his opinion. He could no longer help all those who were dead, couldn't ask them for forgiveness for not doing a better job in protecting them. But he could still be there for the living, could still ask for their forgiveness and could still do a better job of protecting them.

He got up and let his right hand join the left on the doctor's forearm and both squeezed gently. "I'm sorry, Carson. I'm truly sorry." He wasn't sure whether Carson could hear him, but it felt good to say it anyway.

The major was so focussed on the doctor that he didn't feel another set of desperate eyes on his back. And when he finally did turn around they had already been closed again.

* * *

Waking up to all this wonderful feedback certainly makes getting up at 6 am a whole lot easier :-) Big thanks to all of you!


	10. Chapter 15

A/N: Those of you familiar with spoilers for the upcoming McKay and Mrs Miller episode will probably realise that the first part of this chapter is going to be slightly AU once that aired. I wrote it long before the first spoilers came out, though, and since it doesn't really matter for the story itself, I left it the way it is.

* * *

_- Chapter 15 -_

"There will be times, Mr McKay, when you won't be able to solve every equation life presents you with. At some point you will have to relinquish control to other people whether you like it or not."

With the entire wisdom of his thirteen year old life, Rodney had silently snorted at Mrs Hill's words, dismissing them arrogantly. Everything could be answered with enough brainpower; and neither his classmates nor any of the adults around him possessed that. So, as far as Rodney McKay was concerned, he was as clever as they came and growing up only made him taller.

His parents seemed to agree with that sentiment. They left him alone for the most part. His mother provided a clean house and fresh clothes, and food was ready at the appropriate times. Once his father came home from work, they would eat it in silence then go their separate ways again.

For the first couple of years after he started school, he tried telling his parents about all the different things he had learned that day, about all the books he read. They listened without saying a word. Sometimes his mother would give him a small pat on the head and then asked if he needed new socks, since she'd found one with a hole in it, the other day. His dad always smiled his indifferent smile; not knowing what to do with a son he didn't understand and had no common ground with.

So he stopped telling them about his day and everyone seemed happy about the silence at the dinner table.

Without understanding the reasons, Rodney knew his parents were scared of him. His mother was only coming to his room to collect dirty laundry and the only interaction with his father was when he needed money for new books, which was always given to him without questions or real interest.

Jeannie was probably the only normal person in the house, when she actually spent time there, what happened less and less with the years. She screamed at him for disassembling her roller-skates, and hugged him when his experiment with the rocket-driven skateboard ended with his nose against the lamppost down the road. He told her about Newton's third law and she would listen for two minutes, then tell him to go lose himself since she had a date and no time for weird-talk and, by the way, he needed a proper hobby.

The fact that she was actually yelling, hitting and sometimes hugging him - more often the former than the latter – had meant more to him than he'd ever told her. She was a big sister, the sort many of his classmates had; moody, only interested in boys and make-up, loved her annoying little brother, hated school and despised her parents. The loud arguments between her and his mother had been the only occasions where real emotions had bubbled up in the McKay residence.

He'd thought his sister was the coolest person in the entire world: independent and stubborn, never indifferent like their parents. The idea with the skateboard, the electronic mouse-trap that cost his father a toe-nail as well as the atomic bomb in sixth grade had all been projects somehow inspired by Jeannie. So when she left, he wasn't only short a sister, but also short someone who would actually talk to him, who gave him some sort of feedback.

He was mad at her for going away, for leaving him alone with brainless parents that didn't know how to handle their own relationship much less a kid-genius like him. From that day on, he refused to talk to his sister when she called, and left the house when he knew she came for a visit. And when he left for college, she had long since stopped trying to keep in contact. Rodney McKay no longer needed people in his life. The important ones left anyway. He was smart, he could do everything on his own.

Now, 25 years later, he was faced with the realisation, that even eighth grade teachers like Mrs Hill were right sometimes, and that there were things he couldn't do on his own.

oOo

Right now, Rodney wasn't so much relinquishing control as having already lost it. This time it had been he, who had left people behind and caused those most important to him, harm.

The major's reaction to what had happened and the treatment he'd given Rodney had shown that Sheppard thought the same. He'd messed up and had no idea how to make things right again.

When he had woken up in the infirmary, the first thing he had seen was Carson and the first thing he had felt was shame. But at the same time he also felt desperately tired, afraid and lonely and wanted the people around him to take care of him, to be there, just like he hadn't been for Carson. Rodney knew his wish wouldn't come true. It couldn't. Once he'd pushed people away, they didn't come back. His childhood had shown him as much.

Coming-to in the middle of the night to the almost deathly quiet of the infirmary was nearly as scary as the pictures of dying people that had haunted him in Peter's room. He could still feel their presence and the suffocating guilt that accompanied them.

Rodney had already had his share of panic attacks and knew the feeling of losing control and the emptiness they always left behind in his body. This time it felt a little different, though. He was tired beyond anything he'd ever experienced, wrung out like an old rag. He was unbelievably cold, his limbs felt heavy and his skull was trying to squash his brain into a nutshell.

Seeing the major next to his bed talking to Carson had sent a quick glimmer of hope into his guts, but that was promptly quelled. Not wanting Sheppard to see the desperation, Rodney quickly closed his eyes again and pretended to sleep when he felt John turning around.

"Hello, Major." Rodney couldn't place a name to the quiet voice, but assumed it to belong to one of the male nurses working for Beckett.

"Hi, Mike." Sheppard had always been better with names. "How're they?"

A couple of seconds filled with silence preceded Mike's answer. Rodney assumed he was checking Carson's condition, but wasn't particularly surprised not to feel the man come any closer to his bed. The entire city had to know about what he'd done by now, and the infirmary staff was particularly loyal to Carson; he was surprised his IVs didn't contain citric acid, just for the irony. "Fine for the moment. They can both do with some rest."

"Yeah, guess so." Sheppard's voice was subdued somehow, it had lost the sting from earlier, but none of the usual cheerfulness was evident.

"Don't worry, they'll be up in no time. You'll see."

"Hope you're right." Strange, how sincere he sounded.

"I'm always right." Even Rodney couldn't ignore the man's cheerfulness. It was somehow refreshing. He hadn't heard too many happy voices lately. A small glimpse of irrational hope bubbled up again; maybe this man somehow knew more than he did?

Still keeping his eyes closed and breathing even, the physicist heard someone's footsteps retreating. But when the chair between his and Carson's bed squeaked slightly, he knew they hadn't been Sheppard's.

"Oh, and by the way", Mike's voice again, sounding farther away this time, "Dr McKay's awake."

Oh no.

Rodney reflexively tried to hide his reddening face in the pillow; he didn't know what was worse: that someone had caught him faking sleep, or that this someone had told John Sheppard, of all people.

For a couple of minutes no-one said a word. Rodney had always hated uncomfortable silence more than anything, and usually left, or covered his unease with babbling. Neither option was available to him right now.

The silence went on longer.

And longer.

And after a while it grew normal, and Rodney stopped feeling the need to cover it.

And when still nothing broke it, there wasn't even a reason to keep his eyes closed anymore, which, until now, had given him the illusion of being unwatched, un-judged, unnoticed.

"I was angry." Sheppard sat in the grey chair. His legs were apart, elbows resting on tense thighs, and he was facing the empty aisle between the beds, watching the floor or his unmoving hands, Rodney couldn't tell. In all the quietness, the words startled him, but, apart from his now open eyes, Rodney didn't move.

"I deserve it." Rodney believed Sheppard expected an answer, but as soon as those three words, which he meant with all his conviction, had left his mouth, the major turned around sharply to face him.

"No. That's not what I meant." The voice was as hard as the face that looked at him.

"I, uh." If he just knew what the major wanted to hear.

Afraid the silence would invade the air between them again, Rodney, with some difficulty, pushed himself further up the bed; and was shocked when he suddenly felt Sheppard's hands underneath his armpits hoisting him the rest of the way up. He looked wide-eyed at the other man, not having expected the casual, friendly gesture, but Sheppard wasn't looking at him; he just turned around, putting his back to him, then placed both hands on Rodney's bed and sat down with an exaggerated jump that had the entire half of the mattress vibrate for several seconds.

"I've lost people." John's gaze wandered to the other end of the infirmary. "I've killed people." He didn't appear to be seeing the wall. "I've lost friends in the fight. But never…" He didn't finish the sentence, jumped back up instead with so much force that Rodney reflexively clawed at the sheets to keep from falling off the other side.

Sheppard started pacing around the bed, hands pressed into tight fists. Rodney watched him, certain now, that no answer was expected from him. And this gave him the courage to actually speak up, "Never what?" he inquired.

When a plastic tray suddenly and very forcefully connected with the metal bar at the tail end of his bed, Rodney jumped and Carson was startled awake with a gasp.

"FAMILY, DAMNIT! I never lost a GODDAMN. MEMBER. OF. MY. FAMILY!" Sheppard accented every yelled word by slamming the tray down repeatedly. Soon it lost its perfect rectangular shape, breaks crisscrossing the white surface. The noise alerted the nurse from before who came running, with Biro hard on his heels. John hadn't seen them, yet, and also missed the small dismissing gesture Carson waved to his staff. To Rodney's surprise they actually backed off hesitantly and were gone before Sheppard had a chance to notice them.

"So many dead." The voice was more bitter than angry now; not quite as loud. But, when Rodney was suddenly fixed by those eyes, black with weariness, anger and… was it fear?... his breath caught a little in his throat, even though he was pretty sure John would not physically hurt him. "So many dead. And what did you do? You get yourself killed, because you decide to become sloppy with your gun - _during_ a battle! How incredibly, unbelievably, mind-blowingly stupid is that, huh? By all rights you should be dead, McKay. DEAD. As in D-E-A-D. FLOATING BELLY-UP. GONE BYE-BYE! And then, through some miracle, we DO survive for another day and you decide to do your second most stupid thing and we almost lose Carson. After. AFTER the FUCKING battle is OVER. You could both be dead. You SHOULD BE!" His voice had a high-pitched quality to it now.

"But we're not?" Rodney didn't feel entirely safe to speak up, but thought he was starting to understand what Sheppard was getting at, and if he was right, there was hope that things could be okay again.

"NO. " Another bump was noisily added to the mangled tray, which finally relented and broke. "No, you're not." With that John deflated like a balloon and slumped onto Rodney's bed.

Rodney rubbed his still ringing left ear, then waited a moment before asking. "Feeling better now?"

With a sigh, the remaining piece of plastic clattered to the floor a few feet away. "Yeah. Actually I am." John rubbed his eyes.

"Hope so. Was getting … worried … about my … inventory."

John seemed surprised to see Carson awake and his look quickly turned into an apologetic frown. "Sorry, Carson." But Beckett's eyes were already closing again.

"Rodney listen." Rodney didn't miss the use of his first name and the quiet tone that was now only audible to him. And he was listening. Even with his head still threatening to fall off and the fatigue so palpable, he thought he'd pass out from it any minute now, he was still listening.

"What you did was stupid. Immensely, bone-crushingly stupid. But I didn't mean what I said to you. You know… what I said here, in the morning. It was an accident. I overreacted, because I've … we've lost so many people already and I don't want there to be more. Especially not like this. I'm sorry. Really. The last couple of days have been hard on us all. I just … I guess I just wanted you to know that I hope we're … okay and if you need to talk … I'll listen."

During his entire monologue, John had kept his eyes locked on Rodney, his normally unreadable face full of memory. With the last sentence he simply got up to leave and only Rodney's hesitant question stopped him half-way to the door. "What'd you mean with the, uh, you know, uhm, the, uh, family-part? Who'd you lose of your family?"

"No-one. But it was damn close."

oOo

With this cryptic statement John had left. In a way Rodney was grateful. Had he stayed he would have had to say something, and whatever that would have been, it would have been sappy. And Rodney didn't do sappy. Or rather, didn't know how to do it properly.

Still, a big part of the weight on his chest had suddenly been removed. He felt almost embarrassed by the relief he felt that there still were things he could fix. Maybe not entirely. He'd have to live with the guilt over what happened for the rest of his life. But maybe he wasn't quite so alone in all this as he had feared.

With that, the need to sleep finally overtook his brain's desire to think, and after a nurse had suddenly appeared with a little cup containing a couple of small white pills, Rodney soon drifted off into the pain-free, dreamless sleep of the drugged and recuperating.

* * *

I realise I've said it a million times already, but it probably won't hurt once more: THANK YOU so much for all the feedback :-) 


	11. Chapters 16&17

- Chapter 16 -

3:47. - a.m., of course.

Tick…tick……tick………tick.

Three, two, one…

3:48. - Still a.m.

Tick…tick……tick………tick.

He was sure he could hear it ticking, the small digital clock on the bottom right of his computer screen.

The quiet of the room was absolute, with the exception of a slight humming sound of the small lamp that was illuminating three quarters of Rodney's desk.

And the ticking of the clock.

He wondered why he'd never heard it before, because right now, the sound was deafening.

46, 45, 44, 43,… The seconds towards 3:49 passed by slower and slower.

He should probably go to bed.

Sliding his feet off the desk, Rodney rubbed the small of his back where it had stiffened over the last 92.4 minutes that he had sat motionlessly; watching three of the four digits of the clock change gradually, and continuing to count down the seconds in his head.

What Sheppard said had helped. A bit. But Rodney still could not shake the feeling of responsibility. Peter was dead and Beckett was still lying in the infirmary. It didn't matter how good the prognosis was, Carson was paralysed right now, couldn't even sit up without help.

Biro had kept Rodney overnight and, with the help of strong drugs, he had slept almost till noon. Carson had been awake then; more or less anyway. He seemed okay, had told Rodney repeatedly that he didn't blame him, not his fault, blahblah. But what Carson failed to see was that Rodney blamed himself. It _was_ his fault after all.

Carson's condition had slowly started to improve, and if things went the way the other doctors hoped, then they would get their CMO into surgery to remove the bullet within the next day.

After being officially released to his quarters, Rodney had hung around a while longer. Blanket wrapped tightly around his still slightly trembling shoulders, he sat next to his friend's bed. During the short time the doctor was awake, Carson did most of the talking. Rodney just didn't really know what to say except "sorry" repeatedly until Carson told him to "Whisht now", which confused him into speechlessness.

Not once, though, had Carson mentioned anything about the possibility of being paralysed, and Rodney didn't want to bring it up himself. He was more than happy with the discussion about last week's roast beef.

It was unbelievable how well his friend had taken the situation. Were it reversed he didn't know if he could be so forgiving; Carson had even been the voice of reason in a match between John Sheppard and himself, while it should have been their responsibility to - at the very least - help him through this terrifying situation, keep his spirits up, be his friends.

Another thing to feel guilty about.

But no. Self pity wasn't doing any good any more. Not that it ever had, but it was generally a comfortable and quick way out of difficult situations.

'Difficult situation', that was a euphemism if ever he'd heard one.

He hadn't wanted to leave Carson alone again, but soon enough, his own body had demanded more sleep, and one of the nurses had ushered him back to his quarters to rest. But once again, sleep had eluded him, and a couple of hours later he was back in his lab, hoping to get some work done.

Rodney leaned forward a little and the back of the chair moved with him, until it was upright again. Resting two forearms on his knees, he let his eyes drift around without really seeing anything.

Until they settled on his shoes.

When he'd arrived in the lab, he was in good spirits, maybe not exactly happy, but still feeling intensely relieved. For a couple of hours he had worked silently alongside Radek, disturbed only by a few requests for help from his fellow scientists.

After Radek and the others had finally called it a night, Rodney had also started to close all running programs, hoping to get some sleep now. However, once everything was taken care of and all that was left to do was shut the computer down, something kept him. For some reason he had to wait for the 2:16 to turn into 2:17. And so he had stayed sitting in the chair.

He hadn't given it much thought when he had entered the room, but looking down on the floor now, he noticed something dark next to one of the table legs. Wetting his index finger, Rodney wiped over the small stain, then rubbed thumb and index finger together. Both came away slightly pink.

Blood.

Carson's blood.

That's when it hit him. This was the very room, where _it _had actually happened.

Looking more closely now he saw more dark stains. Points sometimes, but mostly smears.

He could follow the trail. Not easily by any means, the cleaning brigade had done a pretty thorough job in erasing the evidence, but some places had been missed.

There, next to the drawer was a spot, and underneath that chair another one. There, on the doorstep was quite a lot and outside in the hall, too; he could see it from his position in the doorway. He saw the drops, the smears, the fingerprints,… the desperation and the determination.

Carson had succeeded in the end. Who knew how much longer it would have taken them to find him if he'd stayed in the lab?

Looking down the hall, Rodney leaned his head against the doorframe, hands buried in his armpits and biting his already brittle upper lip until it was bleeding.

Carson had made it. That was what counted right now and Rodney swore to himself he would not abandon him again, no matter what the next day would bring. But as it seemed, Carson already handled it all very well, better than anyone had expected after the first 'incident'. He was strong. He would be fine. He had to be.

Coming to a decision, McKay straightened up and went back to his desk. Quickly disconnecting the laptop and switching off the lamp, he took the computer and left the room again. A glance at his watch confirmed that it had just passed 4 o'clock. Most people were already asleep, or rather _still_ asleep, and the infirmary would be almost empty, but Rodney wanted to check on Carson again before going to bed.

For some weird reason, seeing the blood now had had a calming effect on him. It no longer reminded him too painfully of what he'd done, but was evidence that they had beaten the odds again.

He smiled.

oOo

Rodney wasn't surprised not to pass anyone on his way to the infirmary. Lights had been subdued to give the appearance of night even to the parts of the city not illuminated by sunlight. Crossing two sections, he soon arrived at the infirmary door, which opened with a quiet hiss.

As Rodney had expected, the infirmary was dark, except for a small desk lamp at the nurses' station and some warm light filtering in from Carson's office, where the nurse on duty was obviously just sharing a cup coffee and some quiet conversation with someone Rodney couldn't see.

Only silence enveloped the large room apart from the whispered sounds coming from the office. The physicist involuntarily concentrated on what was being said, but only shreds were audible. He didn't want to, but he strained his ears to hear more. The regular beeping sounds that got louder the closer he got to the bed in the slightly separated part of the room retreated into the background of his consciousness.

What he couldn't hear from the conversation was substituted by the buzzing noise of silence swooshing in his ears, and he almost missed another, less, or maybe more familiar sound coming from his intended destination.

Not knowing what to do, Rodney stopped and simply looked around the corner of the mobile partition at the bed in the middle, but didn't proceed into the cubicle.

Carson was crying.

But doing his best to stifle any noise by biting down on a piece of blanket, with one hand holding more of it over his mouth.

He did a good job. Rodney hadn't been able to hear it until he had been almost next to the curtain. Now, though, the sound was unmistakable and impossible to miss. Rodney was torn between giving the doctor privacy, giving in to his own urge to run away and leave someone else to deal with that, or going in to try to be a friend and taking the risk of creating a very awkward situation for both of them.

He probably would have left hadn't it been for the one sob that Carson just wasn't able to swallow. It was heartbreaking to witness. Rodney placed the computer on the floor, moved silently into the cubicle and slowly sat down on the bed, trying not to startle Carson, who had his eyes squeezed shut. He wasn't entirely successful, and the doctor suddenly opened his eyes in alarm, choking a little on another sob he couldn't hold back.

Not having the right the words to say, Rodney simply looked into Carson's tear-filled eyes and grasped the doctor's right forearm in silent support. Carson's first response was to quickly wipe away the evidence of his weakness, but when the warm hand just stayed where it was and his gaze was calmly held, the tears kept coming faster and the sobs got louder; not loud enough to alert anyone else for the moment, but loud enough to cut deeply into Rodney.

oOo

Rodney had no idea how long he simply sat there, holding his friend's hand and squeezing his forearm; offering nothing but his presence. Long enough, however, to feel the sting in his back from sitting in the uncomfortable position for too long. It didn't matter, though.

At one point the sobbing had grown loud enough to attract attention of the nurse, but with a simple look from the physicist she had left again. Carson hadn't even realised she'd been there.

In the end exhaustion won over and the tears dried. Abandoning his seat on the bed, Rodney moved over to the small nightstand and wet a cloth in the water-filled basin. The fever had broken some time ago, but the doctor's face was red and hot from exhaustion. Carson had fallen into a light slumber, but opened bloodshot eyes when the cold rag was gently wiped over his forehead and face.

"Sorry", the one word was spoken so softly that Rodney almost missed it.

"For being human or for finally admitting it?" His tone held no accusation and he was careful to keep any trace of the usual sting out of his voice.

"Didn't want you to see…"

"Didn't want me to see what, Carson? That you're scared out of your mind? That you'd love to run away and hide?" He winced at his own poor choice of words, Carson just continued to avoid looking at him. "Come on, you know I'm scared of pretty much everything most of the time. And if I could have, I would have hidden in the darkest, soggiest swamp on the mainland, from the moment we detected the Hive ships. What's the big deal? If it helps then cry, yell, scream, bitch and moan. Works for me."

He waited a few moments for the words to sink in, then posed the one question he simply could not understand.

"By the way, one question. Why are you trying to protect me? _Me_ of all people? Hell, Carson, you're not supposed to care about anyone besides yourself right now."

"Thought, you needed it."

And he had. Second screw-up in as many days. "No. I was a moron and what I needed was a kick in the ass, not supporting words from the man I nearly got killed." Sensing the tired man was about to object, Rodney quickly stopped him. "Shut up! No matter what you or anyone else says, Sheppard was right: if it hadn't been for me, you wouldn't be in this situation and we wouldn't be having this conversation.

I will have to live with this for the rest of my life. But this isn't about me feeling guilty right now. This has to be about you using your Scottish stubbornness to get through this. And when you do, then we all…then I will. You got that?"

Rodney sensed that at least some of his words had gotten through.

Carson could now barely keep his eyes open and his emotions were plain on his face. Nervously he clenched and unclenched his fists. Pressing his lips together tightly to stop the new tears that were already filling his eyes, from falling, he finally admitted in a whisper, "I'm so scared."

Softly pressing the now only moist rag against the doctor's cheek, Rodney gently forced Carson to look at him. "I know. And I wish I could tell you everything is going to be alright. Believe me, I really, really wish I could. But what I can promise you is that you won't be alone. We'll be here. Understand?... Carson?"

Rodney saw how much effort it took Carson to keep his eyes open, but he wouldn't have it. "Understand?" he repeated with more force.

"What if I… if I…"

"We'll deal with it. Heck we're living in a city built by ascended beings of a higher plane of existence" a bit of sarcasm never hurt. "- on a side note: with a very questionable interest in Scottish sheep herders and American kamikaze pilots in dire need of a haircut. - Plus you have the most brilliant man in two galaxies at your service; I'll figure something out. That's a promise."

The smallest of smiles appeared on Carson's face and he nodded almost imperceptibly. "Okay."

Once McKay was sure his friend had fallen asleep, he wrapped both arms around himself and stared at his own feet. What if he couldn't keep that promise? Torturing his upper lip further, he tried to keep it together while sinking down onto the chair next to the bed. No longer able to look at Carson, he buried his head in the crooks of his arms and pillowed them on the mattress. With an uneasy feeling in his stomach, he too, finally fell asleep just as the first rays of another day sparkled brightly on the ocean surrounding them.

- Chapter 17 -

Something startled Rodney awake. Looking around in confusion for the possible source, he could see the only twilight-lit outline of John Sheppard at the foot of the bed. He hadn't been asleep for long.

"Hi."

"Uh…hi. You're up early." Rodney blinked rapidly several times and rubbed the heels of his hands over his eyes to adjust them to the dim light.

"So are you."

Smart ass. "Not by choice."

Sheppard gave him a smug look that clearly stated just how sorry he was. Rodney returned a sour look, which was cut short when Carson furrowed his brows and sluggishly moved in his sleep, moaning slightly. He was obviously in pain.

The major started to walk away to get someone, but was intercepted by an approaching nurse, the one from last night. Backing away from the bed in order to give her room to work, the physicist wondered just how much the woman had heard last night, if that soft noise had been enough to attract her attention.

The pain meds she administered seemed to help and Carson settled down again.

When she had finished checking him over, the nurse turned to the other two men. "His vitals are good. Dr Biro will be here shortly for a last check. If all goes well we'll be prepping Dr Beckett for surgery soon."

True to her word, the resolute doctor appeared less than minute after the nurse had left again. Not for the first time, McKay wondered how someone so small could make so much noise without really producing any.

In her usual fashion, she pushed past Sheppard and McKay before either had a chance to make a strategic retreat. She busied herself readying her stethoscope and was about to lift Carson's white gown, when she noticed the two men still standing behind her. "Gentlemen?"

Was that an insult, a request, an order or a simple statement? In any case, her voice spoke of dire consequences. Sheppard acted immediately and pushed McKay out before leaving himself. "We'll just wait outside then."

"Much appreciated."

"We can't just leave Carson." Rodney was bright enough to keep his voice down and waited until they were outside the cubicle.

"We're not leaving him, Rodney, we're just giving him some privacy. Besides you of all people should be quiet. You're already on top of Biro's list of preferred candidates for a Y-incision."

Looking for an appropriate response, but coming up empty, McKay settled for folding his arms and huffing in indignation.

It didn't take long for the small woman to finish her examination. Scribbling notes on the chart she was carrying, Biro hurried away without even a sideways glance at either Sheppard or McKay.

"Hey!" That earned him a bony elbow in the side. "Ouch."

"Doc? How's he doing?" Sheppard had caught up with the pathologist.

"Ah, Major." She continued walking, not looking up once from the chart. "As well as can be expected. Still a little too weak for my liking, but I believe he's strong enough for the surgery. We'll prep him shortly. If you'd excuse me." Not waiting for a response, she disappeared into another room.

"Lovely woman."

McKay had to agree, then quickly followed the major back behind the partition. He wasn't surprised to see Carson awake, however barely.

"Hey, Doc. How's it going?"

Carson didn't respond, but licked his dry lips and looked longingly at the water glass on his nightstand.

"Sorry, Carson, but I don't think you can have any before the surgery." Sheppard apologised.

"Huh? Oh, right."

The doctor looked worn out, white as a sheet and visibly trembling. Worse than the day before; Rodney feared it had to do with yesterday's events and hoped Biro was right with her diagnosis that he would be strong enough to handle surgery.

John sat down on the bed, just as Rodney had a couple of hours ago. Lightly tapping Carson on the shoulder to get his attention, the major got comfortable on the mattress. "Everything will turn out great, you'll see. When you get out, we'll have steak and potatoes ready, with lots of gravy. And don't forget the beer! And chocolate chip ice cream with caramel topping as dessert. How's that sound?"

"Heart attack waiting to happen?" Carson's smile was small but genuine.

"Not for us picture-of-health-people. And we won't share with Rodney." His pfffting in the background was ignored. "Just the two of us and maybe Teyla and Elizabeth for some pretty company."

"Sounds terrific."

"See? Told ya, there are always things to look forward to."

"I guess." Doubt and uncertainty crept back into the doctor's haggard face and it was clear to both John and Rodney that he had something else on his mind.

"You want haggis? Sorry, Doc, but my sympathy for you doesn't quite go that far."

Carson snickered and ended up wincing slightly when his stitches pulled. Quickly, though, his face grew serious again, showing uncertainty that made him look even more fragile. "Will you be here?"

Rodney turned purple in embarrassment and looked on the floor, whereas John's face showed surprise first, before he, too, suddenly found the ground very interesting. They really had screwed up. Big time, if the doctor felt the need to specifically ask that question.

Carson, however, misinterpreted their reaction. "I mean…uh…sorry, of course, you have a lot to do. I didn't…"

"_Of course_, we'll be here. No place else to be. Right, McKay?" John looked straight into Carson's eyes.

"Absolutely." The physicist had been slower to recover, but his answer was just as confident as the major's.

All three men's attention was drawn back, when a young nurse came into the room. "Major Sheppard, Dr McKay. Sorry to interrupt, but I have to start preparing Dr Beckett for surgery now."

"Sure. We'll get out of your hair. Behave yourself, Carson and I'll put a six-pack in the fridge."

"'d prefer Single Malt."

"We'll have both." Growing serious again, the major smiled down kindly and squeezed his friend's hand "Don't worry, everything will be fine!"

Rodney was once more at a loss for words. He couldn't quite share the major's unwavering confidence, but did his best not to let it show. Replacing John at the bed, he also gave Carson's hand an encouraging pat. "Listen to the man with the silly haircut. He's long overdue to get something right, so statistical probabilities work in your favour. …We'll be waiting."

No longer able to keep the worry and concern out of his voice and face, Rodney quickly turned around and left with the major, who was waiting for him.


	12. Chapter 18

A/N: Almost there now. Just one more to go.

_- Chapter 18 -_

"McKay, I swear, if you don't sit down now, I'm going to staple your butt to the chair and find some superglue for you to chew on. NOW…SIT!"

So Rodney could move fast if he wanted to.

They had already been waiting for five hours. Elizabeth had come and gone twice, as had Radek. Teyla had been called to the mainland again and had left, albeit reluctantly. The evacuation and resettlement had worked more or less smoothly, but there was still a lot of work to do in the Athosian village.

Radek had gone after the wish to kill McKay had become overwhelming. Rodney's life was safe from that particular danger now, but John's patience was wearing thinner by the minute.

The physicist had plotted out a tour from the main entrance of the infirmary, twice around the little column in the waiting-room, past John's chair, stopping temporarily at the window before turning around to do the entire thing all over again. Over and over and _over_ again. He had been walking this trail for two and a half hours now. And if that wasn't bad enough, he hadn't shut up once in that time.

It was driving John nuts. Nuts!

But his little outburst had helped, and Rodney had finally deflated like a balloon and sat slumped, a picture of misery, in a chair next to him. John considered talking to him, but the last couple of days had depleted his own supply of optimistic energy.

Rodney's supply of all kinds of energy seemed thankfully depleted, too, so they sat in silence…

"They really should be finished by now."

…for all of 23 seconds.

"They should, shouldn't they? Major?" McKay was wringing his hands again, leg muscles tensing in preparation for getting him back to his feet, but John intercepted him by grabbing a handful of Rodney's sleeve.

"McKay, listen." He knew the lower his voice got and the more pronounced the "s-sounds" became, the more intently people tended to listen to him. "They will be ready when they're ready, then we'll know. Until then, I strongly suggest you sit down and keep quiet. Because", he added, "like this, time will automatically pass faster. Einstein's theory of relative sanity."

"Oh please…"

"McKay!"

"Shutting up."

And to John's surprise he did.

Revelling in the silence for a few minutes, he looked over to the physicist and saw the other man had finally fallen asleep. He lay sprawled awkwardly over the chair, his feet endangering the stability of the coffee table where they were propped up right on the edge, promising a few sore muscles when he woke up.

John straightened up in his chair then rested his forearms on his knees and watched his hands thoughtfully.

It had all been too close. Far too close.

For a while he had thought he handled things well. Now, he wasn't so sure anymore. Maybe with the exception of Beckett and Rodney, everyone else obviously still thought so, but it had left a mark on him.

_It_. The situation. The attack. The siege. People were addressing it differently, but nothing felt appropriate. Nothing really did it justice.

They had lost so many people; and the entire concept was still too new to him. Yes, he had lost people under his command, but before coming to Atlantis he had never been on top of the military food chain.

So far there had always been superiors; people he could secretly blame if something went wrong, men who told him what to do; who were making the decisions for him. And as much as it had annoyed him at times, and as hard as it sometimes was to follow their orders, they had been guidelines; either to follow or to disobey.

But all these months ago, things had suddenly changed. He lost this liberty, when Sumner…died. Now it was he who gave the orders, and he was too aware what a bad one could cost them. And even good ones could mean people died. He was working without a safety net now, and John physically felt the great empty space beneath his dangling feet.

Now, people were dead. A lot of them.

He wasn't a naïve man. He knew it was nothing short of a miracle that not more, not _all_ of them were dead, but still… He had known almost all of these men and women. Not all had been friends, but every single one had entrusted their lives to him. People whose names he couldn't remember, even people like Kavanaugh.

A small hiccup to his left drew his attention back to the present. Leaning back in his chair, Sheppard watched Rodney's sleeping form. And then this. When Teyla had told him about what happened near the power room, something inside him had snapped.

People tended to think giving your life for a higher cause was something to admire, that such people were braver than others. That was bullshit and he knew it now. It was easy to do that really, because, quite literally, you weren't the one who had to live with the consequences. Others had to, though.

Walking into the jumper and navigating it to the Hive ship hadn't felt that much different from a Sunday afternoon stroll through the neighbourhood. Your brain just wasn't clever enough to process that you were actually about to die when no-one was pointing a gun at you or your heart suddenly decided to stop beating. It didn't work that way.

Watching your friends die or seeing them endanger their lives was a whole different story. Rodney had come so close to getting himself killed because of his carelessness; an attitude John had spent endless hours trying to eliminate.

Rodney could be dead now. By all rights he should be. And this knowledge had made John angrier than anything. There was this possibility he could have come back from his oh-so-brave suicide-mission only to discover that his best friend was dead.

Simple concept, really.

He had been able to shove all this thoughts back into the farthest corner of his consciousness for a while, but not far enough. When he found out about Carson, his carefully built wall had crumbled for good, and all the anger, the helplessness and excessive demands the previous weeks had caused, had kind of bubbled out of him.

But, damn it, this had hit too close to home.

It had been cruel what he'd done to his friend; showing him the video and then storming off to let him deal with it all on his own. But everyone had his breaking point; and John thought he had come close to his. Unlike everyone else in the city, however, he wasn't allowed to show it.

He had screwed up.

"Do I have a pimple somewhere?"

"What?"

"'Cause if I don't, then stop staring at me like you want to mug me or something."

"Do you have something worth mugging you for?" John had been startled when Rodney had suddenly spoken, eyes still closed. But – even though he'd rather gnaw on his own dying body than admit it – he was glad the silence was gone again.

Rodney patted along his jacket and trouser pockets and came up with a power-bar that he ripped open immediately. "Just that."

"Thanks" John reached over, snatched it out of unsuspecting fingers and took a bite before Rodney had a chance to utter his already famous:

"Hey! That's mine. It's chocolate chip!"

"I know. It's good."

Taking pity on Rodney's pathetic expression, John ripped off a little less than a quarter of the bar and offered it to the physicist. When all his friendly gesture accomplished was a deadly stare from his companion, the major quickly stuffed the remaining piece of chocolate into his mouth, inwardly smiling; the friendly banter between them was back.

He'd missed it so much.

oOo

Some time later, a painful jab to his ribs woke John from a nap he hadn't even wanted to take. Looking around in confusion, he saw Rodney walking out of the waiting room towards an approaching Dr Robinson.

Quickly getting to his feet as well, he hurried after the physicist.

"And? He's good, right? Will be fine, right as rain? He is, isn't he? Oh god, he's dead. Please tell me he's not dead! I knew this couldn't…"

"Dr McKay, calm down." The doctor laid a hand on the nervous man's shoulder, crumpling a surgical mask into a tiny ball with the other. "He's most certainly not dead." The dark skinned man turned a little to address both McKay and Sheppard now. "Surgery took a little longer than we expected, but I've just been in to see him, and they are finishing up as we speak. We successfully removed the bullet and there doesn't seem to be any damage to the spine or surrounding tissue." Robinson smiled.

"So, he'll walk again." Rodney blurted right into the other man's last sentence, and John stiffened in anxious anticipation of the response.

"At this stage, we still don't know for sure, I'm afraid. The fact that there is no visible damage improves his chances greatly, but only the next few days will tell, once the swelling had a chance to go down. I'm sorry. I know it's not the answer you wanted to hear, but it's all we can say so far."

Behind the doctor, the door to the surgical suite opened and released a bunch of people directing a bed into one of the cubicles. Rodney immediately started towards it, but was quickly stopped by the tall doctor.

"We have to get him settled in first, Doctor. I promise someone will get you once he's ready." He nodded at John, who silently agreed to take care of the physicist in the meantime.

"Come on, McKay. I might have some peanuts we can share", John told him, effectively blocking his view of ICU and steering him back into the waiting room.

oOo

Carson had looked worse than ever.

When they had finally been allowed to see him, he wasn't even breathing on his own. The original assortment of IVs had been doubled in Rodney's opinion, and he had the sneaking suspicion that three quarters of them had only been added by Biro because she rarely got the chance to exercise her art on live things.

He'd said so, and had taken her murderous look as confirmation. Why Sheppard had looked at him in exasperation he still couldn't understand. As if he hadn't thought the exact same thing.

Apart from the added machinery around the doctor, Beckett's face was deathly white, the dark circles around his eyes adding to the overall corpse-like appearance. It was quite disturbing.

And for the next two days all they could do was wait.

Rodney wasn't all that good at waiting. By the time the doctors removed the ventilator, he had already rearranged parts of the infirmary into a makeshift lab. Unfortunately, at some point during the night, he'd dozed off, pillowing his head on the softly vibrating computer casing. The sound of falling metal and paper had woken him up. Just when a not amused night nurse was busy wrapping his stuff messily into a sheet and depositing it outside the front door. She looked threatening enough for Rodney to wait until her shift was over to get his stuff back.

Rodney really was too tired to do more than put the sheeted ball back on the bed, before settling his head on his arms on the metal rails encircling Carson. A while ago, he'd thought Carson would finally show some signs of life when he became a little restless, but a new dose of painkillers had settled him back into motionlessness.

His colour had improved somewhat during the night and the, now slightly inclined, headrest made Carson look more comfortable; not to mention the less intrusive nasal cannula now replacing the breathing tube, which had Rodney gagging whenever he looked at him.

The still of the night however, made the physicist a little tingly and he wished the Major were there to keep him company. The few nurses and doctors on the night shift moved around with too much stealth and he jumped whenever someone came in to check on their patient.

Finally, dawn broke and the dull grey of night merged into sunlight, made colourful by ten thousand year old glass.

Shortly after the day shift began, Biro came for the first test. The Major had also made his way to the infirmary, bearing food. He'd relinquished his seat to Rodney during the night, since the staff strictly kept to Biro's 'one at a time'-rule.

Carson still wasn't awake. It was now almost 11 hours after he'd come back from the OR. The energetic doctor, standing at the foot of the bed, assured them though, that all was well, as far as they could tell.

'As far as they could tell' Earth was flat and revolved around Vulcan, but Sheppard's warning look kept Rodney from saying it out loud.

"Okay, Gentleman," Dr Biro addressed the handful of people standing anxiously around the bed; even Elizabeth had somehow managed to be there. "I want you to understand that it's still quite early, and even though we successfully removed the bullet, the swelling could still be quite severe, so no response doesn't necessarily mean there's permanent damage. To the contrary, we're actually quite confident after seeing the results of the surgery and the MRI that, with time, Dr Beckett should regain full mobility."

"But you don't know for sure." Someone had to ask and since everyone else seemed unwilling, Rodney took the task himself.

"There is unfortunately no guarantee, Dr McKay, especially where the spine is concerned. All we know is that it looks promising, as far a…"

"As far as you can tell, yes. This is getting kind of old."

The small doctor shot the physicist a warning look that told him her patience with him was waning fast. After a second, she apparently came to the decision that he wasn't worth her time, and she pulled out a pencil from the breast pocket of her lab coat. Uncovering Carson's feet she took hold of his right ankle and ran the tip over the entire length of the sole. The sight alone made Rodney's foot twitch in sympathy.

Carson, however, showed no reaction at all.

* * *

A/N: Did I mention just how much I appreciate each and every review you guys have sent? I did? Well then: THANK YOU AGAIN ! 


	13. Chapters 19&20

A/N: That's it. The last chapter. Thank you all so much for reading, and I hope you enjoyed it. I certainly loved reading all your feedback :-) Great thanks for that as well !

And lots of hugs go to Skiffy for a terrific job as beta. As I said, without her, I'd never have finished this!

* * *

_- Chapter 19 -_

"No, I won't, Rodney."

"Won't what?" Keeping Carson vertical was taking all of his concentration, so Rodney was only half paying attention.

"I won't marry you."

"Huh?" _Damn it Carson, stay upright_.

"Oh, you weren't planning to propose to me?"

"Uh… What?" Rodney had to adjust his grip again, when the doctor's left leg gave way.

"Get your grubby hands OFF of me. NOW!"

Huffing in indignation, Rodney reluctantly let go of the swaying Doctor's arm and waist. They had been practising in the gym alone for half an hour now, after Dr Finnegan had stormed off, and it was obvious Carson was tiring quickly. Sweat ran off his pasty forehead and his arms were shaking viciously under the strain of having to bear almost all his weight on the two parallel bars.

Rodney had tried to reason with him to get him to stop for the day, but Carson was having none of it.

Being a genius however, Rodney was once again proven right, when he felt Carson slide forward without his support, legs immediately folding under him. Even his quick grab for the doctor wasn't enough, and Carson's weight brought Rodney down with and under him.

"Uh…" Breathing was hard with 160 solid pounds pinning you down.

"Not a word", Carson growled, hot, too quick breath hitting Rodney's neck. For about a second he worried if Carson might simply decide to bite him. Considering the man's foul mood, he wouldn't put it past him. "Not. A bloody. Word."

"How could I? Seeing as your dead weight is crushing my larynx and cutting off my air supply right now. Seriously Carson, aren't sick people supposed to lose weight instead of doubling it? – OW! What was that for?"

Rubbing his abused midsection, Rodney carefully wriggled out of underneath the doctor's prone form, grumbling loudly.

Beckett struggled to get to his knees on his own, with an "I'm fine, now leave me alone". It would have been quite a funny scene actually, if it had been a twelve months old toddler instead of his 36-year old friend. Unfortunately, Rodney had witnessed a lot more success from his much less stubborn nephew.

Positioning himself, arms folded, so Carson could see him, he waited until the CMO had finally given up with a sob of frustration, before speaking up again. "Oh yes. You really don't need help. You're fine there on the floor? See anything interesting? Oh, hey, you know what, you do your thing, I'm getting a coffee. Want some?"

"Bastard." Carson turned his head, face buried in the blue mattress that covered the floor between the two wooden bars. With his uncooperative legs lying askew, he looked much like Rodney's spaghetti had after he'd accidentally knocked his plate off the table last week. He was a heart-rending picture of misery.

"Okay, so you don't want one. Your loss. Have fun then. See you later. Say hello to the dust bunnies!" Rodney took his time walking towards the exit while waiting for a clue as to which would win: Carson's pride or his endangered dignity.

The fight took longer than he'd imagined, and Rodney waited for a full five minutes just outside the door for Carson to call him back. Instead, all he heard were more grunts and noises of exertion, while Beckett tried to get up under his own steam. It was painful to listen to and Rodney started biting on his already ruined fingertips to keep himself from going in.

This had been going on for fifteen days already.

oOo

After the initial shock that, so far, Carson did not react to stimulus, things had finally started to improve for a while. Any doctor that Rodney had asked, and he'd even called Daedalus' infirmary to ask for a fifth and sixth opinion, told him the same thing. Given time, Carson would walk again. The bullet hadn't done any permanent damage, and, every day that the swelling went down a little more, Biro seemed more pleased with the results of her tests.

Still not satisfied and more than a little worried about Carson's condition, Rodney sat next to the CMO's bed, laptop linked to the medical library, which Carson had strictly forbidden him to ever access _ever_ again. He scrolled down the list of procedures, symptoms and therapies for people with spinal injuries. He was starting to get quite an expert on this topic, but tried not to show it too much in fear of Biro taking the database down from the intranet to prevent him from reading it again.

Absentmindedly, Rodney chewed on a tongue depressor, while scrolling down the page, when Carson opened his eyes, which finally glittered with comprehension. They had kept him doped up for almost three days, and all his visitors got from him during that time were tired blinks and small moans.

"Hey!" Leaning forward, Rodney realised the sodden wood in his mouth was starting to drip with saliva, and quickly discarded it. "How're you feeling? Want some water?"

"How'd it go?" Carson's voice was raspy and tired, but the eyes were bright with alertness and fear.

Pressing the call button, Rodney smiled down at him, trying hard to quell all residual anxiety in the back of his mind. "You're going to be fine. Biro says surgery went well and you're showing all the Neanderthal reflexes you apparently displayed before."

"I'm going to walk again?" Carson's response came out a little choked, voice thick with emotion.

"Apparently so." Rodney really tried for something sarcastic to say, but the genuine relief in the other man's face made any snark remarks impossible; and the smile lighting up Carson face was more than a little infectious.

If he'd known it'd be the last time he'd see the man smile for a couple of weeks, he would have taken a Polaroid picture and stuck it to Carson's forehead.

oOo

The sounds inside the room had stopped now. Carson was obviously no longer trying to get up on his own; whether out of resignation or depleted strength, Rodney didn't know. Probably a lot of both.

His fingernails were completely gone now. Not hearing Carson at least try to get back on his feet was actually worse than listening to the futile attempts. Rodney still blamed himself, and knew it would forever stay that way, no matter what the major or Carson said. Just one more thing on his long list of failures. But the past days had shown him broken things could be mended even if they weren't of a technological nature. Mistakes could maybe not be erased, but he certainly could try to make up for them. And he'd be damned if Carson proved him wrong.

Resolutely getting up, he plastered his best nonchalant expression to his face, kicked the door open and walked towards his stubborn friend.

"Finished being an ass?" Fishing out two squashed, half melted Snickers bars from his trouser pocket, Rodney sat down next to Carson and leaned back on one of the metal poles. He offered the flatter one to his friend, who now lay on his back with his arms crossed over his face, breathing heavily. As he'd expected, Rodney didn't receive an answer, so simply threw the chocolate next to Beckett within easy reach, and slowly peeled the soiled paper off of his own bar.

"I guess not then. Coffee was out, by the way. Pity. Especially since this cute brunette was on duty in the mess. She just makes the best coffee in four galaxies." He closed his eyes in exaggerated bliss. "It tastes just like the one my aunt used to make. You know, the furry one from New Brunswick?"

Grimacing slightly with the memory, he added, "I was just always a little worried about finding any kind of body hair in the brew… I guess the revulsion factor killed some of the delicious taste. Seriously Carson. You should have seen her. It takes Sheppard two weeks to grow what covered her face every six hours. Quite remarkable actually."

Rodney peeked over, when he heard a tiny disgruntled moan, but Carson lay otherwise motionless. Pleased about having provoked at least some kind of reaction from the man, he continued almost without a break.

"Hey. I ever tell you she introduced me to coffee? No? Well, she babysat me one day, when my parents had to appear before a court. Can you imagine, my Dad had been issued a summons, because he accidentally reversed into the neighbours' concrete chicken? Okay, it wasn't exactly accidental, or happened while reversing a car. It wasn't even actually him; not that he knew that of course. But what sane person puts a concrete chicken into his yard anyway? A chicken, Carson. A _smiling_ chicken at that. How can a chicken smile? It's got a beak, for Pete's sake. But I digress. So I was at my aunt's place, going through the stuff in her kitchen. At that time I was always looking for stuff that could help me with my experiments. I found this delicious smelling black powder and tried a little, you know, to check its consistency. Needless to say, I didn't exactly sleep that night, or the night after that. Great stuff! Did you know that wet coffee powder leaves a pretty spectacular result when it explodes? Hmm, good old days. I had to repaper her living room, but it was worth it."

"You won't stop, right?" The sound was muffled by a sleeved elbow blocking the mouth. So Rodney wasn't sure whether Carson was about to cry or kick him in the butt.

To be on the safe side, he moved a little, just outside leg's reach and responded innocently. "Stop what?"

"Talking." Now he knew; Carson wanted both.

"Not any time soon, no. I rarely have such a captive audience." He had to snicker at his own joke.

"Oh for the love of… Can't you just leave?" Exasperated, the doctor half rolled over onto his left elbow, stripes of red dots covering his face, where the weight of his arms had pressed the shirt onto otherwise pale skin.

"I could, yes. But I'm scared of what your staff might do to me, when they find out I left their favourite vegetable stewing on his own."

Closing his eyes, Carson let himself fall back onto the mattress, whimpering softly, still not meeting Rodney's eyes. "I can't do this, Rodney."

oOo

The man was impossible. Once he had started to feel marginally well enough, he'd demanded to see his own chart. This was refused by Biro, until, on day four after the surgery, she gave in and handed it over.

To Rodney's silent relief Carson couldn't find anything he might have done differently and quietly settled back into bed, obviously pouting over something no-one else knew about.

They tried cheering him up, but every day he grew quieter and more drawn into himself. Rodney didn't know what to do with him. Seeing him like this now, when, bit by bit, Carson was actually getting physically better, did nothing to reduce the guilt weighing him down. But no amount of his insults, Sheppard's bad jokes or Elizabeth's cajoling, got Carson out of his bad mood.

Until finally, on day six, there was some spark coming back to Carson. This was when Dr Finnegan, full-time biologist, but obviously with a double degree in physiotherapy, showed up to get him out of bed and to his own legs. Or so everyone involved without a medical degree had thought. Fact was, all she did was hoist Beckett out of bed, hold him as he successfully managed not to collapse for five seconds, then lay him straight back down again.

"That's it?" Sheppard had wondered aloud and Rodney had to agree.

"This went well, Major," the woman had answered, patting Carson's arm affectionately, as he looked a little shocked about the upright position and breathed heavily. "We can't rush this. But we'll have you back to your old self in no time, Doctor."

Carson didn't seem to agree. That night, when Rodney, as usual, came to help with dinner, he was told in no uncertain terms to leave. He had been told just that many times by both the medical staff and Carson, but this time, the request was followed by a full dinner tray being thrown at him, so he obeyed it for the first time.

When PT finally started in earnest, the doctor came up from his all time low, but Rodney felt it was only because the poor man was just too exhausted to put up much of a fight.

Progress was slow, but everyone else except Beckett, was thrilled about every little step. But it just wasn't fast enough for Carson. And so, on day 15, even the patient, gentle Dr Finnegan finally lost her temper, called Carson worse that Dr McKay with an ingrown toenail on a sugar-low, and stormed off.

This was how Rodney ended up with babysitting duty that day; and this was when Rodney finally decided to do things his way. No more Mr Nice guy.

oOo

"I can't do this, Rodney."

"I can see that." It was said matter-of-factly. After all, it was true.

Rodney stood up from his place on the floor and, using as few fingers as possible, tucked the goo-covered wrapper carefully into his pocket. Though he was now towering over the prone doctor, Carson still avoided his gaze, a look of utter resignation on his face.

Counteracting his rough response, Rodney reached out a chocolate covered hand to the doctor. Clearing his throat, Rodney announced with a deadly serious voice. "If I was the mushy, likable, wussy type, I'd now say something pathetic like 'but we can do it together, if you'd just let us help', or 'you're going to be fine', followed by a 'don't worry, you stupid halfwit'."

"You'd say that if you were likable?" Finally, the look was returned, with an incredulous, but slightly curious, expression. "And since you're not?"

"Since I'm not, I say something like: Get your lazy ass off the floor, you moron, 'cause we're all tired of chauffeuring you around. You know as well as I do that everything's fine with your legs. You just have to have the backbone to put up with a little physiotherapy and a lot of humiliation."

Ticking off points with the fingers on his right hand, Rodney got increasingly louder. "We've all waited around your bed for you to wake up, we waited for you to regrow your brain cells, we waited for you to move, to sit up, to get out of bed and now we're all waiting for you to get your head out of your ass. And you know what? You might not have noticed, but I'm not such a patient man. So GET UP and STOP WHINING!"

For a minute no-one said anything.

"That's funny, coming from you." Carson deadpanned eventually.

The sarcastic retort broke the frenzy that McKay had talked himself into. Looking for a good come-back, but not finding one, he settled for the next best thing that came to his mind. "Oh, shut up."

"Guess, I acted pretty stupidly, didn't I."

"Put that sentence into the present progressive, then that's a Yes."

"Your subtlety is endearing."

"Thank you. It's one of my better traits. So, you're going to stay down there, or am I finally allowed some coffee?" He was really starting to feel the effects of going without caffeine for three hours.

"Make it Irish and you're on. Can I ask you something before that, though?"

"If you have to specifically ask to ask, then No."

"What happened to the chicken, your father did not reverse into?"

"Well, he did reverse into it. That little bump just wasn't what made the thing go all eggshell on him."

"So?"

"Did I mention the thing was hollow? I might have endangered its structural integrity by detonating three or four handfuls of personally upgraded New Year's Eve bangers in it. Turns out, concrete isn't all that robust after all."

"You might? Oh my. Remind me to keep my kids away from you." The second part of the sentence came out a little short of breath, when Rodney suddenly took hold of his shoulders and hoisted him up. After being horizontal for so long, the sudden vertical position disagreed with Carson's equilibrium, and Rodney struggled to keep them both upright.

"A little help here", Rodney squeaked, when Carson failed to support any of his own weight. Exhaustion, due to stupidly overdoing his exercises, was radiating from the doctor in waves.

"Sitting down would be good." It was the sort of mumbling people about to pass out tended to exhibit.

Counteracting Carson's swaying stance, Rodney dragged the almost limp man the short distance over to the wheelchair. Trying for a controlled descent into the vehicle, both men all but fell into it. Rodney thanked whoever had had the foresight to lock the brakes.

"Rodney?" Carson's eyes were almost closed, sweat running in tiny meandering rivers down his face and colouring the already dark shirt even darker. "I don't want the Snickers any more."

"Okay." Still busy pulling out his own limbs from behind Carson's bulky frame, Rodney wasn't sure why Carson suddenly showed an interest in the long forgotten treat, but unconsciously glanced back to where he had put it. It wasn't there any more.

"Shoe." The eyes were closed now, but his friend's mouth was curved into a suspicious smirk.

"Huh?"

"Under your shoe!"

Rodney looked down to see the bar sticking to his right foot, oozing chocolate from both busted ends, covering his shoe and leaving unappetising footprints all over the floor. "Yuck! Now that is just disgusting."

Shaking his foot like a cat with a wet paw for a few seconds, he realised the thing was well and truly stuck there, and no way in hell was he going to remove the sticky mass with his hands. Reminding himself to call maintenance, Rodney gripped the handles and steered the wheelchair back towards the infirmary, shaking his leg in disgust every other step.

_- Chapter 20 -_

Carson slept well that night. The first good sleep he'd had since no longer getting chemical help for it. The whole experience had shaken him. It had scared him beyond anything he'd ever thought possible. Even more so than the entire Wraith fiasco. At least, back then, he had felt a semblance of control. But not being able to move, with the knowledge it could be permanent, had stripped him of even this.

He didn't know what he'd expected after Biro had announced he'd walk again. As a doctor he knew it would not happen overnight; as the patient, he'd woken up ready to jump back to work, only to have his hopes shatter, when he couldn't even feed himself without spilling everything.

Things had improved a lot over the last week. His right hand was almost back to normal, only the left one still trembled. The pain in his midsection gradually lessened and they were able to cut back on his pain meds bit by bit. But every day that he woke up and still had to fight to sit up without raising the head of the bed first, had increased the tension headache behind his eyes. He never told anyone, afraid they might think of him as a wimp to complain about a headache brought on only by worry over something his own profession told him wouldn't happen.

The 'what ifs' and 'then whats' were directing his thoughts. They had edged themselves into his brain, knotting together the grey matter, until no other thought could penetrate the tumour no medical equipment could ever detect.

Throughout it all, though, the others had been there. They kept apologising for not being there earlier, though quite frankly, his memories of that time were only hazy. He still accepted just to make them feel better, but really only wanted to get rid of them. They wouldn't let him. No matter how grumpy he became, not matter how many insults he threw into their faces, they stubbornly stuck around.

And only just last night, he'd found out that that was exactly what he'd wanted. He wanted to yell at them for putting him through painful PT, wanted to insult them for their well meant, badly received pieces of advice, and wanted to hit Rodney to pay him out in his own coin. And at the same time, he needed them to take it all and still come back the next morning, looking far too cheerful for their own good, walking on their own two feet to remind him why all this was worth a little sweat and a lot frustration.

So here he was, standing in between two wooden bars, knuckles white from gripping so hard, making the first few steps on his own. And not minding the least that Sheppard stood there, arms outstretched, ready to catch him if he fell. But the major wasn't actively supporting him, Carson did that all by himself.

John grinned from ear to ear now and Carson gladly reciprocated. There was even a tiny little smile on Rodney's face. He had halted his constant mumbling about 'ungrateful bastards', 'not his job', and 'much more important things to do', before the angry bang of a mop hitting the floor announced Rodney's return to sulking about having to wipe the floor.

Things were finally coming together after all they'd been through. And for the first time since the Siege began, Carson knew without a doubt, that the trip back to Earth the following week, would not be a one-way trip for him.

- The End -


End file.
